Hecate's Chalice
by Sylvia2
Summary: Semi-gratuitous Iolaus whumping, with a thin veneer of plot. Seperated from Hercules, Iolaus gets afoul a mean wizard and an angry goddess. Complete


Disclaimer: These guys belong to someone other than me. The original characters, however, are mine own. The Gods belong to themselves and I have no intention of claiming any of them.

Warnings: H/C, some nudity and language. Rated PG13 at worst.

Synopsis: Iolaus whumping, possibly gratuitous. Set early season three, before the events in "Not Fade Away". Spoilers up to that episode are likely, but nothing specific.

Hecate's Chalice

by Sylvia

Chapter One  
  
The day was warm and bright, and the scent of flowers hung in the air like some exotic perfume adorning the neck of a beautiful woman. It was spring at last, the long winter of Demeter's mourning over, and even the slightly muddy road dirt clinging to his boots could not dampen Iolaus' good mood. The birds had returned from wherever they went when it got cold and they flitted from tree to tree above him, their song a cheery counterpoint to his journey. Iolaus found himself whistling along with their piping as he walked. It was good to be alive.  
  
The roads in Thessaly were not the best, and the spring rains had pounded this one to mud a few days before, but the sun had baked it almost hard again so the going was not too bad. Iolaus planned to make the Diminos crossroads by tomorrow afternoon, meeting up with Hercules so they could finish the journey to Athens together. The Festival of Aphrodite was to be held there on the equinox, two weeks away, and the two friends had been once again invited to judge the festival's beauty contest, although after what happened the year before, he was not sure why they had been asked back.  
  
Nevertheless, Iolaus was looking forward to it eagerly. He had always been one to appreciate female beauty, and this was an opportunity to indulge that appreciation without his best friend and sometime goody-two-sandals elbowing him and telling him to wipe his chin. Indeed, as he recalled, the demigod had done a bit of drooling of his own last year. And blushing. And running. Some of those beauty contest girls were quick, and they were all hands. Iolaus blushed faintly himself at the memory of where some of those hands had traveled.  
  
A chill breeze and a smattering of raindrops stole away the warmth of remembrance, and Iolaus shivered at the sudden outbreak of goosebumps. The sun was sinking low through the trees, and it was early enough in the season to make a fire at night a necessity. Iolaus pulled his cloak from his travel pack and slung it around his shoulders, pulling the warm wool close to cut off the wind. Time to start looking for a place to stay the night, and he did not relish the idea of camping in the cold rain.  
  
Pinios wasn't too far out of the way, he remembered, and it might be nice to sleep in a bed for a change. A dry, warm bed, food cooked by someone else, and the possibility of a little companionship drew his feet toward the walled city, nestled in the hills of Thessaly.  
  
Somewhere, a Goddess laughed and it rained a little harder.  
  
By the time Iolaus reached the city gate, the rain was pouring down in icy sheets. "Persephone a little late getting home, Demeter?" he muttered, and clutched his cloak a little tighter. The guards at the gate looked at him disdainfully as he ran up, his breath puffing out in white clouds, and ducked under the shelter of the arch. "Hi there," the sodden hunter said cheerfully. "Can either of you recommend a good inn within sprinting distance?"  
  
The guardsman on the left, the one with no chin, said, "What's your business in Pinios, little man?"  
  
Iolaus wiped water from his eyes and his face, then flicked his hands dry. He didn't mean to splash the guardsman; the space under the arch was cramped and these two were wearing way too much armor for the confined area. That was his story, anyway, and he'd be sticking to it. "Just trying to get out of the rain, friend. You have noticed it's raining, haven't you?" He grinned endearingly up at Chinless, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "That's what it means when water comes down from the sky and the dirt gets all sticky."  
  
Chinless' face turned red, making it even more unappealing under his dented bronze helm. "Why you little..."  
  
"Save it, Nikos." A throaty alto voice drew Iolaus' attention to the other guard. This one was a different species from Chinless. Her armor was well tended and her helm had been polished so well that it glinted, even in this gloom. "There's an inn two streets over and one down. Sign of the Pegasus. They have pretty good beer."  
  
His grin grew more genuine. "Thanks. Two over and one down...got it. Care to join me?"  
  
The guard didn't smile, but she also didn't smack him, so Iolaus was well pleased. "No thank you, sir. I'm on duty."  
  
"Fair enough." Iolaus pulled his hood back up and aimed for the inn. "Maybe another time." And he was off again, pelting down the empty street gray with twilight and rain toward dryness, warmth, and food.

()()()  
'He is an enemy.' His dark lover whispered in his ear, sending a vision of a blond warrior, running through the rain-slicked streets of Pinios. 'He is a spy, a thief.'  
  
The pale man writhed in his bed, sweat streaming from him and staining the silk under his head.  
  
'He will try to take me from you, beloved. Stop him.'  
  
"Kill...I'll kill him..." the man mumbled in his sleep.  
  
'No. Here is what you must do...'  
  
The voice hissed in his ear, in his mind, and the pale man calmed. Soon, he smiled. His chamber servant shuddered and made a warding gesture. The old man was used to his master's nightmares, but that smile had been colder than Ares' heart.

()()()  
  
It was a much nicer inn than Iolaus had been expecting from the guardswoman's brief description. The floor was slate instead of dirt, and the main room was well lit with the kind of non-smoky oil that reeked of olives, rather then of fish. The tables were well made, the benches padded, and the bar was clean and had mugs of pewter instead of the more usual stoneware or wood. Iolaus felt positively scruffy in this place. Still, any port in a storm. He shouldered his pack and walked up to the bar to haggle with the proprietor for dinner and a room.  
  
The fastidiously dressed man looked Iolaus up and down, from his drenched and bedraggled hair to his muddy boots, and said, "Does sir require a room? There is a very fine livery stable one street over." Someone tittered behind the warrior, and he resisted the urge to turn and glare. If it hadn't been raining so hard, Iolaus would have left then and there and looked for lodging where the innkeeper didn't look at him as though he had tracked in dung from the street.  
  
Wondering if everyone in this town was naturally rude, or if it was the fault of the terrible weather, Iolaus pulled a few coins from his pouch and said, "Beer. Food. Bed. Please." He slapped them down onto the bar top and gave a slightly menacing smile.  
  
The innkeeper didn't even have the courtesy to look intimidated. "Very good, sir." He made the coins disappear and produced a flagon of thick, dark ale that smelled faintly of honey. "We have a delicious fish stew this evening, accompanied by fresh bread, cheese, and olives, with melons in wine for dessert." Iolaus' mouth was watering already. "Or would sir prefer something he can eat with his hands." The innkeeper smiled down at the warrior, oblivious to his danger.  
  
For the first time that evening, Iolaus wished Hercules were here. Iolaus could depend on his friend to hold him back when people got up his nose. Herc was the soul of patience, and would have probably thanked the man for his hospitality and offered to do the dishes afterwards, if the innkeeper happened to be short-handed. As it was, Iolaus managed to hang on to his temper with both hands and heroically did not pummel the snob with his mug. Through clenched teeth, his mouth a tight smile, the warrior said, "The fish stew, please. I'll be over there." He pointed to an empty table in the corner, near the hearth.  
  
"Very good, sir."  
  
The stew, when it arrived, almost made up for the odious innkeeper. It was thick and hot, and savory with garlic and wild onions. The hearth crackled merrily not far away, and warmed his outside even as the food was warming his inside. His sodden cloak hung next to the fire, steaming fragrantly as it dried, and drew more pointed looks from the well-to-do patrons than Iolaus himself had done. He ignored them in favor of the cheese.  
  
There was a raised stage at the other end of the common room, and a young woman with a lyre climbed up to seat herself on a low stool. Iolaus took another bite of bread and chased it with the beer. So there was to be entertainment. The woman stroked a quill over the taut strings and a cascade of ringing notes flowed from under her hand. It was a refined piece, befitting her audience, and one that Iolaus had heard played in Orestes' palace more than once. Iolaus preferred tunes you could dance to, or ballads, or even sagas of battles and heroic deeds, but this girl played well nonetheless and he found himself relaxing under her gentle spell.  
  
The music, the food, and the warmth of the fire were soporific. Iolaus leaned back against the wall and let his eyes droop. It had been a long day of walking; tomorrow would be another. For tonight, he would relax and enjoy a few creature comforts.

()()()  
  
Ten of the city's guards were assembled in the courtyard of the House of Law. Before them stood a pale man with nondescript features, brown of hair and eye, and of an unremarkable height and build. Few who saw this man could describe him after as anything other than 'average.' His face left your mind a moment after he was gone.  
  
"We are going to arrest a spy. He is an enemy of Pinios and its people."  
  
His voice was even average. Even toned, not strident; most would call it a pleasant voice, and this a pleasant man. A neighbor. Average.  
  
"I will accompany you and identify the man. He is very dangerous and will resist arrest, but he must not be killed."  
  
He was also the power behind the ruler of Pinios, and a wizard.  
  
"Follow me."  
  
His name was Orikos, and he was insane.

()()()  
  
The patrons were thinning out as the evening wore on. The girl with the lyre had been replaced by a pair of tumblers accompanied by a eunuch with a hornpipe and no sense of timing. It was time to go to bed. Iolaus gathered up his pack and his now dry cloak and approached the innkeeper again, bracing himself. "My room?"  
  
After an interminable moment, during which the blond hunter devised several new and inventive ways to capture the man's attention, the innkeeper looked down his long nose toward his patron and intoned, "Your...room? I am afraid we don't have a room in which sir would be comfortable. All our rooms have beds and clean sheets. Perhaps..."  
  
Enough of this. Iolaus grabbed a handful of tunic and hauled the man down to his eye level. "That's a nice staff you have stuck up your arse, friend. Now why don't you take it out and start treating me like a paying customer. We'll both be much more comfortable." He released the innkeeper and straightened the man's rumpled shirt. "Now, my room. Please."  
  
The sound of rain blew in through the door along with a couple of city guards in leather armor and mail. Behind them came four more pairs, including Chinless and the handsome alto from earlier in the evening. The guards took up stations near the doors and windows, guarding all exits. Before Iolaus could begin to react, a man in a blue robe entered, his hair and clothing strangely dry despite the downpour outside.  
  
His condescending façade gone, the innkeeper began babbling, and pointing a shaking finger at Iolaus. "Arrest this man. He threatened me...attacked me. He's been causing trouble since he came in here tonight. I demand...."  
  
The robed man held up a placating hand. "Yes, yes Demos. We'll take care of it." He gestured toward Iolaus. "Arrest him."  
  
"What?" Iolaus asked, incredulous. "I've done nothing wrong! This man was trying to cheat me out of a room I've already paid for."  
  
"He lies. He came in demanding food and drink and laughed at me when I asked him to pay for it. Ask anyone here tonight. Prefect, this man is a menace and I want him out of my establishment at once! The Prancing Pegasus is a jewel in this city's crown, and he is besmirching her shine."  
  
"You have got to be kidding." Iolaus rolled his eyes and reached for his cloak and rucksack. "I'm leaving. I wouldn't spend the night here for all the gold in Greece."  
  
A gauntleted hand covered his as he reached for his belongings. "You'll have to come with us, sir," the guard said. "You're under arrest for disturbing the peace and taking service without paying."  
  
There was something very wrong with this picture, Iolaus realized suddenly. Eight soldiers worth of wrong. This was a set up and Iolaus cursed the lassitude that had lulled him into relaxing his guard. Every sense now on alert, he quickly scanned the room, noting the positions of the well-armed and armored guardsmen. Outnumbered and outflanked, he had little chance of escaping the inn without a fight. Never stopped him from trying before, though.  
  
"Ok, ok, you got me." Iolaus smiled and raised his hands, turning toward the bar. He listened to the movements behind him and tensed, then kicked back, catching a guard in the stomach and sending him reeling back to crash into a table. The warrior then picked up his cloak and whirled, catching another soldier in the face with the stiff wool before kicking him away as well and scrambling over tables and benches to get to a clear battleground.  
  
He was met there by a mass of soldiers, the ones he had downed joining the fray once more. Damn, they're fast, Iolaus thought, ducking between the legs of one of the taller men, then spinning and kicking him into the chaotic group. Fast, but Iolaus was faster. Dodging hands and swords, Iolaus whirled through the mass of soldiers until he was on the other side of the group. The door was open, and slanting rain drove in with the wind, forming a puddle on the floor. The way was clear, now, with all his enemies behind him and only the pale man in the blue robes for an obstacle between him and escape.  
  
"'Scuse me," Iolaus said, dodging around the unarmed man. Then the world exploded into fragments and bright stars and he was falling into blackness.

Chapter Two  
  
Aristarkus was not wicked, nor was he stupid. As First Citizen of Pinios, it was his job to manage and rule the city and the surrounding lands. He was also Chief Magistrate in the House of Law, with dominion over the courts both civil and criminal. Holding these titles, he was nominally the most powerful ruler in the region. Farmers and merchants alike came to him to judge in their disputes, and he commanded what amounted to a private army, sworn to protect Pinios and her people from all threats.  
  
A bad man would have taken this power and used it to his advantage, lining his pockets with denarii and his bed with expensive women. A stupid man would never have risen to the position in the first place. These were not his failings. Aristarkus prided himself in his fairness to the people of Pinios, rich and poor, high and low. He managed her resources well and kept the streets clean, at least the paved ones. There had been no famine, nor plague in the city under his management, and his guards were well- trained and well-armed. Bandits did not bother them and warlords came to trade rather than pillage. Under his rule, Pinios had known more than a decade of peace and prosperity.  
  
Then had come the wizard, and Aristarkus learned that one need be neither bad nor stupid to be a poor ruler. One needed only to be afraid.  
  
Orikos had been far too clever to try anything overt, at first. He had presented himself to Aristarkus as an advisor, a wielder of powerful magics, and the First Citizen had been pleased enough to hire him. Every great city needed a talented mage, and Pinios would be the benefactor. A drought averted by timely rains, a monster defeated, and Orikos had proved his worth. Then....  
  
Aristarkus was not married, except to his work. He was a man, though, with a man's needs and he had a little concubine, Messilina, of whom he was very fond. She was dark haired and a little simple, but very loving and loyal and sweet. She made his nights a comfort and his days a joy in a hundred little ways and, in his own way, Aristarkus loved her.  
  
One day, Orikos asked for something, a favor in the courts or some such, and Aristarkus denied him. When he awoke the next morning, Messilina was laying beside him cold and dead, her face a mask of terror. Her heart, the healers had said, but she had been young and healthy and Aristarkus knew in his heart that it had been Orikos who killed her. Her death was well within the reach of his magics. It had been a message, and Aristarkus understood all too well. If Orikos could kill a woman in a locked bedchamber, with none the wiser, it was as easy to end the life of the man at her side.  
  
After that, it was harder to deny the wizard and he slowly grew in power. Taxes were raised at his demand, for the best of reasons of course, and the monies went into lush quarters and luxuries for Orikos. The guard was strengthened, but the men and women hired were not of the quality Aristarkus would have preferred, and they were loyal to the wizard rather than to the city. In the poor quarters of Pinios, conditions were said to be very bad indeed. Crime and beggary was rampant, and jobs were scarce.  
  
Pinios was dying, and there was nothing Aristarkus could do about it. Not without risking his own life. So, he did what he could to keep the courts honest and fair and kept out of Orikos' way as much as he could. The wizard did not hold all the power in the city and a few guards were still loyal to the First Citizen. Aristarkus could still exercise his will, if he dared. 

()()()  
  
"Wake up." Cold water splashed into Iolaus' face, shocking him to consciousness with a cough and a sputter. He shook his head and tried to wipe his eyes, but his hands wouldn't move. Cold steel encircled his wrists, holding his limp body upright against a stone wall. Firelight flickered from a small brazier, chasing back the shadows, but it was too far away to warm the chilled warrior. Someone had taken his vest, and the rough wall was cold against his back. Iolaus shivered and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.  
  
Chinless held the bucket, grinning at Iolaus' discomfort with a gap-toothed smile. They were alone in the tiny cell, a stout door mockingly open behind the guard, and rain fell in through a barred window high on the wall. "Where's your buddies, Nikos?" Iolaus asked, remembering the guard's name. "Are you sure you can handle this on your own? That bucket looks a little heavy, to me." He shifted to ease his aching shoulders, and managed to get his legs to take his weight. His knees were wobbly, and his head ached terribly, but he could stand.  
  
"Sennet's not here to protect you now, little man." Nikos dropped the bucket and stepped in close to the warrior, menace in his eye. "Orikos said I get to play, soon."  
  
Iolaus grimaced away from the leering guard. "You should really do something about that breath of yours, Nikos. It smells like you've been eating dung. Have you ever tried chewing peppermint leaves? I heard that works."  
  
The blow took him hard in the stomach, but he had tensed for it. The man was going to hit him sooner or later, Iolaus knew, and thugs usually went for the stomach or the face. Despite being ready, though, it hurt like Tartarus. Chinless was stronger than he looked. Then again, so was Iolaus. Grasping the chains that bound his arms, the warrior tucked his body up and kicked with both feet, sending the guard reeling across the cell and out the door. He was back a moment later, with a friend, and Iolaus held himself ready for whatever would come next.  
  
What came next, though, was a pleasant voice saying, "That will be enough, gentlemen. Please stand aside." The guards backed away, taking up positions on each side of the door, and two men walked in. One was the pale, nondescript man in the blue robes. The other reminded Iolaus strongly of Jason. He had a proud bearing, and his clothes were rich and well made. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed and a circlet of silver rested demurely on his brow. When he spoke, his richly-toned voice held command and an expectation of compliance. "Why have you come to Pinios?" he questioned Iolaus sternly. "What is your purpose here?"  
  
"He is a spy, as I told you, First Citizen Aristarkus." The pale man smiled kindly at Iolaus, his eyes speaking of pity and a certain reluctance to do harm.  
  
Here was an opportunity and the warrior did not waste it. Speaking quickly, looking the regal man in the eye, he said, "First Citizen, I am not a spy. I'm just a traveler who needed a place to get out of the rain for a night. I don't know who this man thinks I am, but my name is Iolaus. I mean no harm to you or your city, though some of your citizens could use some manners, if you'll pardon me for saying so."  
  
The regal man brought a hand to his mouth, and Iolaus thought he was hiding a smile by the way his eyes crinkled. He had to admit, in retrospect, that a prisoner in chains admonishing the ruler of a city as to the rudeness of his citizens was a little bold, even for him. He shrugged an apology and immediately regretted it, as the movement set his shoulders ablaze once more. "Well, Orikos?" The First Citizen turned to the man in the blue robes. "What proofs have you of this man's guilt?"  
  
For a moment, the pale man did not answer. He seemed to be listening, and toying with some object within the folds of his sleeve. When he answered, though, it was with surety. "I have a very reliable witness, Sire, but she is not able to accuse this villain directly. Rest assured we will have proof for the courts before he is sentenced." The pale man turned a cold smile on Iolaus, and all humor left the warrior's mind. There was no pity there, no compassion. There was only a kind of mad determination. "A confession, perhaps, or evidence of his activities. We have his belongings; we will search his clothes. Who knows what we'll find."  
  
The regal man looked at Orikos dubiously, and Iolaus thought a little fearfully. "Very well, Orikos. See that you do." He looked the warrior over once more, and then swept out of the cell.  
  
Nikos stepped into the spot Aristarkus had vacated, smiling down at Iolaus with malicious glee. "Playtime, little man."  
  
"His clothes first," said Orikos. "I will search them while you question the spy. And, Nikos," he added, "be careful of his feet."  
  
Iolaus smiled tauntingly. "Come on, Chinless. I wanna see if I can knock you through the door again." Herc called it 'tweaking the Cyclops' beard.' He also called it foolish and frustrating, but that had never stopped the blond warrior. The taunting fueled his courage, had done so since his boyhood, and it looked like courage was going to be needed tonight. "Did you put some cushions down out there?"  
  
To his surprise, Orikos started to laugh. The pale man clapped his hands with delight, looking for all the world like Gabrielle watching some new farce by Aristophanes. "Very good, Iolaus. Oh, you're going to be fun." Then he turned and gestured to someone outside the cell and Iolaus' heart sank as more guards marched into the tiny room. "There are many of them, friend. And none of them are tied to a wall. What do you say now?"  
  
Despite the cold, the warrior was starting to sweat. "I say I'm innocent. Nothing is going to change that or make me say otherwise. I came into town at twilight and ran straight to the Pegasus. Nikos saw me come in through the gate, and so did his partner. Before that, I spent all day on the road. I haven't had time to do more than eat dinner, listen to some fairly nice music, and watch some bad tumbling." The guards approached and Iolaus tensed. There were six of them, and none looked too friendly. "The innkeeper will tell you. I was there all evening." He cursed the sound of desperation in his voice, but he had to make this man believe him.  
  
"You could have easily sneaked into the city and then out again, arriving at the gate at twilight, as you say." The voice was reasonable, kind; a parent to a stubborn child. "We must find out the truth."  
  
"I'm telling you the truth!"  
  
The guards converged on him, dodging his desperate kicks and pinning him with hard hands. In the end, it took all six to remove what was left of his clothes, and they chained his ankles afterwards. He had made them wary of his feet, before they were done, but the struggle had left him bruised and winded. The guards were not unmarked, though, and Iolaus smiled as he noted the beginnings of a lovely black eye or two among the panting men. Orikos bundled up his belongings and then waved the guards out of the room, all but one. It would have to be Chinless, thought Iolaus tiredly.  
  
"Don't let him sleep, but do not injure him too badly. We will question him in the morning." With a final kind smile toward the chained man, Orikos left the room as well. The cell door closed with a heavy thud, fanning the flames in the brazier briefly to liveliness before they settled once again to a dull glow.  
  
"Alone at last, little man," said Nikos.  
  
Iolaus rolled his eyes. "Where do you get your lines from? The Guild of Sadistic Jerks?" He forced himself to look away from the threat, though the warrior had seldom felt more vulnerable than now. The nakedness did not bother him much, really. It was being naked while the other man was clothed, and armed, and not chained to a blasted cold stone wall that was abrading all the skin off of his chilled backside.  
  
The guard slapped him, hard, to get his full attention. "Shut up, runt." Then a fist buried itself in his stomach, stealing Iolaus' breath and causing a wave of nausea that had the warrior spitting out bile and scraps of vinegary melon. "I don't want to hear anything more from you but screaming. Unless, of course, you want to confess. No? Thought not."  
  
The fist caught him in the face, rocking his head back to hit the wall with a nauseating crack. After that, things got blurry. Hard fists, taunts, slaps that set his head reeling and his ears ringing. Iolaus tried to concentrate on controlling his breath and riding past the pain, but his head felt stuffed with moss. Dimly, he was aware that all of his weight was hanging from his wrists, but he couldn't muster the strength to do anything about it. All he could do was take it and live and go on living, bitter as life was at that moment.  
  
When Nikos finally tired and stepped back, it took Iolaus a moment to realize the beating was over. He blinked dizzily and then tried to scramble to his feet, but pain and lack of breath made him clumsy and he slumped in his chains once more. Gray dots floated in his vision, and little lights flickered between them. It was like looking down a long corridor, with Nikos at the other end, drinking from a dripping gourd.  
  
The water smelled sweet. Iolaus licked his lips and wondered when his mouth had become so dry. It was like swallowing sand, but the sand tasted like copper. _Split lip_, he thought blearily, and wished he could pass out. The gray dots were getting bigger, and turning darker; it looked like he'd get his wish.  
  
Icy water splashed over him, waking the drifting prisoner with a shock of cold. "Wake up!" Nikos scooped up another gourd of water and flung it in his face. "No sleeping."  
  
"'M not sleeping. I'm trying to pass out. You're not helping." Iolaus licked his lips, catching some of the precious water as it dripped down his face. "Do that again, but aim for my mouth, this time."  
  
The thug did so, his heavy hand cracking once, twice across Iolaus' face. "I thought I told you to shut up, runt."  
  
He was awake now, unfortunately, and aware of each and every bruise and cut. _Herc would tell me to back down, now. Before my mouth gets me in real trouble_. Iolaus smiled crookedly at the thought and decided to heed his absent friend's advice.  
  
His cellmate, however, took exception to that as well. "Something funny, little man?" He caught Iolaus around the throat and began to squeeze. "Something you want to say? Confess to your crimes, maybe? Beg for leniency from the court?" He pulled Iolaus forward and then bashed his head against the wall once more.  
  
The sudden move surprised a cry of pain from the warrior. Tiny sparks of light danced in his vision, and he struggled to draw a breath against the constricting hand. Pulling frantically against the chains, he wondered if this was it, if this was how he would meet his death. Murdered because he had refrained from making a smart comment, that was irony. Herc would laugh, if he knew, after he was done wiping the floor with this guy. Iolaus wondered, dimly, if he would see Ania and the boys again soon, and how long Herc would wait for him at the crossroad. The gray dots in his vision were turning black once more, and all Iolaus wanted to do was fall among them and find a bit of oblivion.

()()()  
  
Her duty shift was over, and Sennet passed her watch report over to the commander. "All quiet, sir. Nothing since we brought in the disorderly conduct earlier."  
  
"The spy, you mean?" He looked toward the bank of cells. Light was flickering beneath one of the doors. "Well, good. You have second watch tomorrow, too?"  
  
"Yeah." Sennet took off her helm and combed her fingers through her hair, sweat and the rain making her short, graying, red hair stand up in spikes. "Do you really think that little guy was a spy? I mean, I saw him come into the city. He seemed nice enough, even though he took Nikos down a peg. Smart mouth, but not a bad sort."  
  
"The wizard says he's a spy. Who are you to say otherwise?" The watch commander handed her a small sack of coin. "Here you go. Payday. See you tomorrow. I've got to go track down someone else to guard the man. Nikos is getting a little out of hand in there." A pained cry came from the cell, and Sennet winced.  
  
Nikos was a bastard, all right, and he had been at odds with her from the moment they had met. He insulted her behind her back, undermining her authority, and she suspected him of taking protection money from some of the merchants in town, although she couldn't prove it. Apart from that, though, Nikos just got up her nose. She hated the weasel.  
  
"I'll do it." The words left her mouth without thought behind them. She had second watch, and her shift was over. Doubtless the prisoner was only getting what he deserved. Her bunk was calling her name, and her knees ached from the rain and the night's cold. Still, she didn't trust Nikos not to kill the little guy. She had turned her back on a great deal, recently, but she couldn't turn her back on the sounds she was hearing from the cell. It sounded like Nikos was killing the boy.  
  
The watch commander looked at her dubiously. "You sure? I'm not letting you out of duty tomorrow, you know."  
  
She pulled her helm back on. "I know. I don't mind. Maybe I can get something out of him."  
  
"It's your funeral. Have fun." The watch commander was one of Orikos' new hires, just like Nikos, and Sennet didn't like him much either. She managed to keep her expression neutral as he leered and gestured her toward the door.  
  
_Jerk_, she thought, opening the peephole to check on the situation inside. What she saw turned her soldier's heart cold. Nikos had both hands around the prisoner's throat, coking him. The man was struggling weakly, but his lips were turning blue and his eyes were glazed. "Ares' left nut!" she cursed, and flung the door open.  
  
"Let go of him, Nikos! Damn your eyes, let him go!" She tugged on the man's wrists, moving her not inconsiderable mass between him and the prisoner. "Let go or I'll geld you with a rusty spoon, you whoreson!"  
  
Slowly, the madness left Nikos' eyes and he backed away. "Bitch. Come to coddle our guest?" Nikos hated Sennet almost as much as she hated him. His breath blew over her with a reek of cheap wine and rotten teeth, and he loomed over her menacingly. "He's a sweet little thing. I guess I'm not surprised you want a bit, too."  
  
Her voice was as cold as her eyes. "You are relieved, Guardsman Nikos. I will take charge of the prisoner." She stood her ground, not that much smaller than he, and he backed down. The man was a coward, and he knew she could best him if it came to a fight.  
  
"Fine. I wish you joy of him." The guard paused at the door. "He's not to sleep. Orikos' orders." The threat was implicit. If she let the man sleep, Nikos would report her to the wizard for dereliction of duty. Her job would be forfeit, and her life might be as well if the stories she had heard were to be believed. With a smirk, Nikos shut the door behind him and dropped the bar, locking her in with the prisoner.

Chapter Three  
  
Wetness occurred at his mouth, a trickle of moisture that he swallowed painfully, but gratefully. A hand cradled his head, holding it up and tipping it back so more of the wonderful water could flow in, cooling the parched tissues and easing the cramping soreness in his abdomen. Nothing else had changed much; he was still naked, still chained to a freezing cold wall, still without much hope of getting out of this situation without further discomfort, if at all. On the plus side, however, the hands that helped him now were gentle, and the water was doing wonders for his mood. Things were looking up.  
  
Iolaus looked into the face of his benefactor and wasn't too surprised to see the handsome alto from the gate. He mustered up a tired smile and said, "Care to take me up on my offer now? Let's get out of here and I'll buy you a drink."  
  
His voice was hoarse in his ears, barely above a whisper, but she heard him. A startled laugh jostled the gourd, spilling water down his chest in an icy stream. The shivers came back, then, and Iolaus tried to draw in on himself as much as he could. The chains held him tightly, though, and rattled in counterpart to his chattering teeth. "A h-h-hot d-drink," he amended.  
  
"Cheeky," the woman muttered, moving away to stand near the door. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, her features lost in the flickering shadows. "Why did you come to spy on us? Who are you working for?"  
  
Iolaus shook his head tiredly. "No one," he said, his voice a painful rasp. "N-not a spy. You s-s-saw me come in t-to town. When d-did I have time to s-sneak around-d?" The shivering made him stammer, but didn't make him much warmer. "I don't suppose y-you could move the f-fire over a bit?"  
  
For a long moment, the woman only looked at Iolaus, and he wondered what she was thinking, what she saw apart from a naked and bruised man. Then, coming to a decision, she wrapped her hand in her cloak and dragged the bronze brazier closer to him. The heat was as welcome and relieving as the water had been. "Thank you." He scrambled to his feet on legs that felt like bread dough and stood, swaying, as he caught his balance again.  
  
"Don't fall asleep, or I'll take it away."  
  
"That's fair."  
  
It was not the worst beating Iolaus had taken, or even the second worst. On one memorable occasion, several months ago, a warlord named Maceus had ended his little question and answer session by breaking Iolaus' arm. Not long after that, Iolaus had fought Hera's Water Enforcer and lost badly. That beating had laid him up for a week, though the innkeeper's plump daughter had made the time pass quickly. In comparison, this was hardly a walk through the Elysian Fields, but it wasn't exactly Tartarus either. He'd live. He'd be miserable and sore for a few days, but he'd live.  
  
Iolaus shifted, trying for a comfortable position. The manacles cut into his wrists and ankles as he moved, but he was standing again and that eased the knots in his shoulders and back. _Wish Herc were here_, he mused, leaning his sore head against the cold stones. He missed his friend, and not just because the demigod could probably knock a hole in the cell wall and get him out of here. _Still, I'd love to see him lay into Chinless_. The thought warmed him, but he was careful not to smile again.  
  
"I'm Iolaus, by the way." The stammer was going away as the chill left his skin. He was still cold, but the fire chased away the worst of it. "What's your name?"  
  
"Guardwoman Sennet." After those two quelling words silence reigned in the tiny cell, broken only by the patter of rain on stone. The expression on the woman's face made Iolaus nervous, but he kept himself from squirming as her gaze wandered over him. It wasn't a lascivious look, or a hateful one. She was simply examining him in the limited light, her eyes betraying little emotion apart from indifference. Finally, she spoke again. "Ares' left nut, but Nikos marked you up. What did you say to him, boy?"  
  
"I must look younger in this light," he said. He certainly didn't feel like a 'boy.' More like a slab of tenderized beef.  
  
He was seeing the woman more clearly now, the light coming through the window turning the fire-lit gloom a pale gray. She was an older woman, with lines of laughter and of pain marking her even features like a map of her life. The bronze helm hid her hair and gave her a fierce look; this was clearly an old campaigner, a professional soldier, and that gave Iolaus some hope. "You have to believe me, Sennet. I'm no spy. Can you help me get out of here? Or get a message to a friend of mine, at least?" Dawn was coming, and Orikos would be following soon after.  
  
"Of course not, idiot," the woman said, her low voice dripping scorn. "Why would I risk my neck helping you escape? Much less passing secrets to your co-conspirators? What kind of fool do you take me for?"  
  
Iolaus' heart sank. He'd hoped he was reaching her, but it seemed not. "Never mind. Forget I asked."  
  
They came for him soon after, seven guards bearing chains and two more to flank Orikos. Still sore from Nikos' treatment, Iolaus offered up a token struggle as he was taken off of the wall, but his arms would barely move. The exhausted warrior was easily overpowered and restrained once more, his abused shoulders protesting loudly as they pulled his arms back and locked them in iron manacles.  
  
They dragged him from his cell and down a corridor to a large, well-lit room. He tried to take a few, stumbling steps but the guards were walking too fast for his weak legs to keep up with them. Perforce, Iolaus let himself be carried. Then he was falling, dropped onto the slate floor in an untidy heap. He struggled to stand up, but with his hands behind his back, he had no way of pushing himself upright. He brought up his knee and managed to turn onto his side, so he could at least face his accusers. From the corner of his eye, he saw a group of people and he groaned, recognizing the innkeeper and Nikos in the crowd.  
  
"Has the accused confessed to his crime?"  
  
"No, First Citizen. He maintains his innocence."  
  
Aristarkus frowned at Iolaus, his gray eyes troubled. "This man has been beaten, throttled. Was this a part of a lawful interrogation?"  
  
Orikos walked into Iolaus' sight and smiled sadly down at the warrior. "No, First Citizen. The spy, excuse me, the accused attacked one of our guards and had to be subdued. His injures are a result of his resistance, nothing more."  
  
"Hah," said Iolaus. He worked his way into a kneeling position, edging away from his guard a little. His outburst was ignored.  
  
Aristarkus waved Orikos closer. "If you have no proof, Prefect, then you must release this man. We will not assume his guilt based upon your word alone." Iolaus was not sure, but it appeared the First Citizen was afraid of Orikos. He did not meet the pale man's eyes as he spoke, and his voice lacked the note of command Iolaus had heard the night before.  
  
Orikos smiled and took a small bundle of scrolls from his assistant. "Here is our proof, Sire. These papers were found in his belongings." He handed the scrolls to Aristarkus and stepped back, again looking sadly down at Iolaus and shaking his head. "You were very naughty, my boy. Very, very naughty."  
  
Anger surged in Iolaus. "I've done nothing wrong! I don't know where those scrolls came from or what's on them, but they weren't in my bag." He rose to his knees and then to his feet, swaying as a wave of dizziness tried to floor him once again. "If you found them in my bag, then you put them there!"  
  
The pale man shook his head. "I did not find them. As your accuser, it would not have been proper for me to take part in the investigation." He looked toward the crowd of 'witnesses,' then addressed Aristarkus. "A member of your guard found these documents, First Citizen." Iolaus looked over at Nikos, who smirked and waved back. The set up was complete, and dread filled the warrior's heart.  
  
Paper rustled as Aristarkus looked through the scrolls. "These are documents from our Hall of Records. They detail the city plans, guard rotations, census reports.... How did you manage to obtain these, villain?" The stern tone was back as he glared menacingly at Iolaus. "No matter. It is clear that you are guilty of the crime of espionage. You must pay for your crime according to our laws."  
  
The usual penalty for a captured spy was death, and Iolaus was not ready to die just yet. He looked around quickly for an exit, but there was just the door he had come through, and there were soldiers between him and it. Licking dry lips, he asked, "What exactly is the penalty for espionage in Pinios? I'd pay the fine, but I seem to be absent my money pouch."  
  
Orikos spoke up, his gentle voice at once kind and regretful. "The punishment fits the crime. You came to see our secrets, so we will blind you that you may never use your eyes unlawfully again. Then we will take you out of the city you have tried to harm and abandon you to your doom in the wilds. It is a humane penalty, and I am glad the laws allow for it, for I abhor the taking of life."  
  
Guards converged on Iolaus again, taking his arms and holding him fast. "What? No!" Panic leant him strength, and he pulled away, managing to trip the one on his right before stumbling toward the exit. He had no hope of getting far, but he had to try. Shouldering by another guard, the warrior actually reached the door before he was pulled down. "Let go of me! This is unjust! I'm no spy, damn it. Send to King Iphicles! He knows me. Jason of Corinth, too! He'll vouch for me. Herc..." A hard hand struck him across the mouth, silencing his protests, and he was dragged from the room.  
  
There was no way out, no way clear of this. The guards were too numerous and the chains too tight for Iolaus to break. Hercules wasn't even expecting him until later today or even tomorrow, so there was no hope for a last minute rescue, and Iolaus wasn't about to ask a favor of the gods. Still, he had to fight, and fight he did down every foot of the marble- floored corridor, and the walls echoed with his protests. The guards were almost as bruised as he was by the time they reached yet another stout wooden door and pushed him through.  
  
They dragged him to the center of the room and pushed him to his knees. A clatter of chains and he was held there, his hands and feet affixed behind his back to a ring in the floor and his back and knees already aching from being held in that position for more than a moment. He had no leverage to struggle, and at last he stilled in defeat, panting from his exertions and rage and the lingering pain of Nikos' beating. The guards left, the last one pausing to give his head a friendly ruffle before closing the door.  
  
It grew very quiet. Lifting his head at last, Iolaus saw that he was alone in what appeared to be a very odd room indeed. It was lit by dimly glowing spheres of light, which rested on columns of black granite carved with disturbing patterns. A trestle table lined one wall, holding stained crockery, bundles of herbs tied with leather and bright ribbons, and what looked to be part of a human skeleton. Along the opposite wall stood a huge scroll case, filled with hundreds of papyrus rolls and stacks of wax tabulas. There were even what appeared to be codices of parchment, bound in leather and wood.  
  
The air was foul in the strange room, smelling of burnt hair and rotten grape leaves. Iolaus sneezed, then tried to breathe through his mouth. The hearth was full of cold ashes, adding to the odor, and a mangy-looking crow eyed the kneeling warrior with scorn from its perch on the mantle. Iolaus shivered, the odorous drafts playing across his skin, and wondered what would happen next. The floor was hard under his knees, but though he could not move to a more comfortable position, he was content to wait. The longer he was alone, the more chance he had to think of a way out of this mess.  
  
Unfortunately, no ideas were leaping to mind. He was trussed up like a Solstice pheasant, naked as the day he was born, and in the hands of a man he was beginning to think was more than a little crazy. There was certainly something strange about the Prefect, apart from the fact that he had framed a total stranger for a capital crime and was about to have him blinded for no good reason.  
  
Blinded. Iolaus flinched at the thought. How could he travel with Hercules, help him with his battles, if he couldn't see? How would he survive in a world where enemies were many, and he was a target because of his chosen path in life? "I'll be dead in a week," he muttered.  
  
"You'll be dead in far less time than that, my unfortunate friend."  
  
Iolaus whipped his head around to glare at Orikos, standing in the open door. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded, anger and despair fighting for dominance in his voice. "I never met you before yesterday. I've never even been to Pinios before. Why frame me?"  
  
The pale man shut the door carefully, then padded over to his desk and sat down. For a long moment he stared off into space, again in the listening pose Iolaus had noticed earlier. Finally he nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. "Yes. Yes I will."  
  
"You will what?" Iolaus looked around for another speaker, but saw no one. "Who are you talking to?"  
  
Distractedly, Orikos said, "Hmmm? No one. Do you see anyone else here?" He pulled a plain silver cup from his sleeve and filled it from a beaker on the desk. "Are you certain you're in your right mind, my friend?"  
  
"I'm not your friend, friend," Iolaus said fiercely. "Now answer my question. You owe me that, at least."  
  
Like a striking snake, the pale man flew across the chamber and loomed over Iolaus, grabbing a tangled handful of his hair and yanking his head back roughly. "I owe you nothing!" Orikos screamed in his face. "Nothing! You are a thief, and a spy, and you would try to take my Lady from me! Damned villain, spawn of Discord!" He shook the warrior's head with each shouted invective, hatred and fury blazing in his eyes.  
  
With the last words, he struck Iolaus viciously across the face and would have knocked him to the floor if the chains had been looser. As it was, the bound warrior was dazed by the blow, held up only by the hand still twined painfully through his hair. A final shake, and the man stepped back, his face once again a mask of banality, his voice a gentle chiding.  
  
"But what harm can a blind man do? Hmm? None."  
  
Iolaus squinted to bring Orikos' face into focus, then gave up the effort and let his head drop. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know who your lady is, much less want to take her from you, though if she knows you like I do she might want to leave on her own." He looked up again. "You really need to do something about that temper. Seriously. I've heard that large amounts of foxglove works wonders." It would also stop the man's heart, but Iolaus didn't mention that little fact.  
  
There was no reaction from the pale man, apart from that damned mild smile. "You should be grateful, my impetuous friend. I'm not having you killed. I don't want to risk the anger of the gods, for I am told you are favored by more than one. Better for both of us this way, is it not?"  
  
"No," Iolaus replied tiredly. "No it isn't. This is wrong, and it is unjust. I don't understand why you are doing this to me."  
  
Disturbingly gentle fingers threaded through his tangled mane, and he jerked his head away sharply, glaring up at the man with defiant eyes. The hand followed his head, grasping his hair once again in a grip of iron. "You don't need to understand. I am doing what I must do." He brought up the cup. Iolaus gasped as Orikos' grasp tightened, pulling his head back and forcing his eyes to open wide.  
  
Now. It was now, and there wasn't a damned thing Iolaus could do about it. He choked back a scream of pain and fury that rose in his chest as the contents of the cup, night black and viscous, poured into his eyes like liquid fire. "No!" He tried to wrench his head away, tried to close his eyes, but Orikos' grip was too strong, holding the writhing warrior in place with seemingly no effort. The pain in his eyes grew into agony, and his whole world contracted to those two burning orbs.  
  
Through it all he could see Orikos' face, calm and smiling, growing dimmer and dimmer as though the glowing spheres in the corners were losing their light. That wasn't the cause, he knew, and the cries he had swallowed a moment ago ripped out of Iolaus' heart as the final scrap of light, of sight, faded into inky blackness.

Chapter Four  
  
"I told you I don't want to judge the beauty contest this year, Aphrodite," said Hercules, with the tone of someone who has voiced an opinion more times than he truly wished. "Its shallow and demeaning to women. True beauty is more than superficial appearance."  
  
A vision walked beside him, with flowing blonde hair and cascading pink gauze that looked like it was being held up by faith alone. As they passed along the road, birdsong followed, and the sound of nature at amorous play rustled in the underbrush. "It's my festival, bro, and I want you and Sweetcheeks to be part of it. It wouldn't be the same without you!" The road mud that clung to Hercules' boots did not touch her golden sandals as she placed herself in his path and looked up at him with eyes that wouldn't have been out of place on a yearling fawn. "Pleeeeeeze? Pretty please with ambrosia on top?"  
  
Her Influence battered at him, but the demigod resisted it and walked around his half-sister. "I'm surprised the pageant committee even wants us back, after last year," he muttered. The argument had been raging on and off since he'd left Delphi to meet up with Iolaus. They were getting closer to the Diminos crossroads, and traffic was picking up. A confused looking peddler passed them, his steps hurried as he glanced back over his shoulder. Aphrodite wouldn't be visible unless she chose, and apparently she had chosen to remain incognito. _No wonder people are looking at me like I'm insane_. Hercules sighed wearily.  
  
"I'm sure the city fathers have forgotten all about that little incident with the goat," the Goddess reassured him as she scurried prettily to catch up with his longer strides. "And my High Priestess is still smiling and asking about Iolaus, so it's all good. Right?"  
  
Hercules would have rolled his eyes towards Olympus, but he was unlikely to get any sympathy from that quarter, so he resisted the impulse and sighed again instead.  
  
"Will you stop that, bro? It's not as though I'm asking you to make kissy- face with a hydra, or something. Yeesh!" Aphrodite put her hands on her hips and blocked his path again. "Come on, Hercie. Say yes. You wouldn't want to disappoint your favorite sister, would you?" She was pouting, now, and twirling her finger in her blonde locks.  
  
_Gods_. "Half-sister. And don't call me Hercie."  
  
"Grump." A wicked light glinted suddenly in her deep blue eyes, and Hercules was abruptly and uncomfortably reminded of Iolaus. His best friend's eyes had lit up the same way at last year's pageant, just before he'd gone off with that priestess. It was not a look that bode well for the demigod's continued resistance, and he waited for the other sandal to drop. It wasn't long in coming. "Iolaus needs this festival, Hercules. You know he does. Just the thing to take his mind off of...things," she finished vaguely.  
  
Hercules knew what she meant. He and Iolaus had passed a busy winter, and they both needed a break. Iolaus had talked of little else for the past week before they had parted company in Corinth. He couldn't disappoint his friend, and to be honest, Hercules was looking forward to the festival too.  
  
A man and his wife were walking down the road towards Hercules and the invisible Goddess, towing a peddler's wagon and arguing loudly. As they passed the demigod, Aphrodite made an impatient gesture toward the couple, who abruptly stopped arguing and started kissing. A few paces later, they had abandoned their wagon and were scampering into the woods, shedding clothes as they went. Aphrodite smiled fondly at the pair. "Ah, Spring. I just love springtime, don't you? All that lovely...love. And stuff." With a final sappy smile, and a sparkling benediction, the Goddess turned back to Hercules and said, "Well? How about it?"  
  
Hercules just shook his head and smiled grudgingly. "I'm not going to win this one, am I?" he asked. "All right, all right. I'll do it. Anyway, Iolaus would have my hide if I backed out now."  
  
"Yippee!" Aphrodite clapped her hands and skipped a little skip of happiness. Hercules looked away quickly. Watching your sister – half sister – bounce was wrong, if a little tempting. She was the Goddess of love and beauty, after all, and she bounced very nicely. "I owe you one, bro. See you in Athens!" As abruptly as she had appeared, back in Delphi, the Goddess vanished in a cascade of pink and gold sparks, leaving behind nothing but her giggle, and that only for a moment.  
  
It was midmorning by the time he reached the crossroads, only to find the place a shambles after the storms last night, and no Iolaus. He had not really expected the older man to be here quite yet, but he had hoped to find him there nonetheless. He had missed traveling with his friend; the road seemed longer and far quieter without Iolaus' ebullient presence. They had two weeks until the festival, though, and the hunter was sure to turn up later on that afternoon, as planned, or that evening at the latest. The road to Athens was long, and there was no telling what delays Iolaus might have met.  
  
There was plenty to do in Diminos to keep Hercules occupied for a day or two. The little village had been born at the crossing of two main roads, one leading from the mountains of Thesally down to Athens, far to the south, and one leading from Volos on the coast, to the holdings of sheep and olive groves to the west, in Thanatos. They were both trade routes, and it was natural enough for merchants to stop at the meeting point, to exchange goods and gossip. Over time, people had settled in the area, establishing shops and small farms in the wooded hills.  
  
The winds and slanting, cold rain the night before had driven Hercules to seek shelter in a small cave, and had driven Aphrodite back to Olympus for the night, though she had reappeared in the bright morning to resume her campaign. Here in Diminos, the storms had caused a great deal of damage. Roofs were half blown off, a potter's kiln had fallen in, and there were sheep everywhere. The entire population of the village was out and about, it seemed, cleaning and making repairs. For lack of anything better to do while he waited for Iolaus, Hercules waded in to help.  
  
He leant his strength to the potter, helping haul away the shattered bricks and ruined pottery from the kiln and then bringing in several loads of new firebrick to repair the structure. That took most of the morning, and he took no payment other than a simple lunch of bread and cheese before looking elsewhere to something to do. Iolaus still had not arrived, and Hercules was getting a bit worried. Still, it was only mid-day.  
  
The wall of the soap maker's house had caved in under the fury of the wind and a partially toppled tree, scattering wattle and thatch inside and out. The soap maker's daughter, a very clean young lady in her teens, gave him a free sample of her father's wares when he was done with the messy job of thatching and mudding the wall once again. She also offered to help him clean up, but he managed to escape before the craftsman's gratitude turned to gall. It was very good soap, though it smelled rather strongly of lavender.  
  
On his way to the creek to clean up, sniffing dubiously at the pale purple cake in its parchment wrapper, something nudged his thigh. He looked down, into the black face of a very wooly ewe. "Hello there. And who do you belong to?" The sheep bleated up at him, and calmly chewed her cud.  
  
"She's mine." He turned and saw a woman with a shepherd's crook bearing down on the ewe, exasperation in her eyes. She had long, dark hair and was dressed in a sensible tunic and trews. Her dark eyes flashed as she took in the demigod's muddy and disheveled appearance, then her lips quirked in amusement. "You look like you've been making mud pies, my friend."  
  
"No, just walls." The sheep butted him again, and he bent to scratch her behind the ears. "Are all these sheep yours?" A small herd was wandering the streets, though less now then when he had first arrived. The woman had been busy, apparently, rounding up her straying flock.  
  
"Yes, all mine. The wind knocked open the door to their pen last night, and they took off like they were being chased by the Neman lion. Silly little things. I'm Mari, by the way." She held out her hand, ignoring the mud that covered his.  
  
Her hands were soft with lanolin, but strong. "Hercules. Pleased to meet you." Her eyes grew big, and he forged ahead, trying to outrun the recognition in her eyes and turn himself back into a person, rather than a demigod out of legend. "So, do you just herd them, or what?" Lame, but the question seemed to bring her back to herself.  
  
"Ah, no, I'm a weaver. It's easier to keep my own sheep, rather than buying wool in Pinios or from the traders from Thanatos these days. I'll be shearing them next week, if the weather holds, then I start spinning." Her eyes were alight with something else, now. The incipient hero-worship was quashed in favor of the delight she clearly held for her craft. Hercules had seen the same light in Iolaus' eyes when the warrior was handling a particularly fine bow, or blade. "I can hardly wait."  
  
He gave the ewe a final scratch, then stood. "Well, let's get the rest of your flock rounded up, then, or you won't have anything to spin." Together, they managed to find and contain the wandering sheep, and Hercules cobbled together a door for the pen. It was early evening by the time they chased the last lamb into the enclosure, and there was still no sign of Iolaus. Hercules looked north, up the road from the mountains, hoping for a glimpse of a blond figure sans pink gauze, but all he saw were people hurrying home for supper.  
  
"You're waiting for someone," Mari said, not asking but stating. She leaned against the fence post, picking hay out of her long hair and mud out from under her fingernails. "He's late?"  
  
Hercules nodded. "Not very late, but yes." The sun was setting into the trees, and it was growing cooler. "He probably got delayed and made camp somewhere. He'll be here in the morning."  
  
The weaver stepped away from the post and started walking to her little house. "In that case may I offer you dinner and several kettles of hot water, not necessarily in that order? In thanks for your help today." The offer was welcome and Hercules took her up on it, using some of the soap and a great deal of hot water to wash away the day's exertions. She left him alone in the stables after carrying out the copper bathing tub, which he helped to fill, going back to the house to fix supper.  
  
The lavender soap was as strong as he feared, and he was a little grateful Iolaus wasn't there at present, to save himself the teasing. Still, the smell of lamb and mint wafting from the house, mixed with the aroma of fresh bread and cinnamon, was enough to make the flowery emanation from his person worth the possibility of future embarrassment when Iolaus finally arrived. Muddy as he had been, he doubted the weaver would have invited him in otherwise.  
  
After supper, she made a bed for him on a straw-stuffed pallet in the front room. "You are very skilled, Mari," Hercules commented. The blankets and sheets were finely woven, and beautiful to the eye and to the touch. A design of green and yellow flowers danced through the weave of the top cover, and it was soft and warm as he slid between the layers of cloth.  
  
"Thank you. It's getting hard to sell, though, these days. I used to take my wares into Pinios, but no one is buying right now. Times are hard there, and that effects the economy in Diminos more than you might think." She sat at her loom and started passing the shuttle back and forth, working the pins with her feet as the bright threads built up on the warp. It was a soothing sound, and the fire crackled a homey counterpoint in the hearth.  
  
Sleepily, Hercules turned on his side to watch her work. "Why are times so hard in Pinios? I thought Aristarkus had things well in hand. The last I heard, he was one of the major powers in Thesally."  
  
Mari nodded, not taking her eyes from the growing pattern on the loom. "There's another power there, now. I've heard whispers of wizardry, and people are afraid. You can see it in their eyes. More to the point, the poor folk are getting poorer, and the rich folk are not minding too much. There's a sickness in Pinios, and it's not getting any better." The shuttle stilled for a moment as she took up what she'd already woven on a roll, then tightened the warp once again.  
  
"Wizardry. I don't much like the sound of that." Iolaus had been coming from that direction, as well. Pinios was off of the main roads, though. The hunter would have had to make a detour to reach the city, and why would he do that? Unless he had also heard the rumors and had decided to check things out for himself. _That would be just like Iolaus_, he thought. If he had heard of problems, a little thing like a wizard wouldn't have stopped him. Iolaus could hold his own against most foes, however, so Hercules wasn't really worried, yet. If there was still no sign of the hunter by morning, then he would worry.  
  
The clack, clack of the loom, and the crackle of the fire lulled him into a drowse, abetted by the day's exertions. It had been hard, honest toil, and he ached a little despite his semi-divine nature. The golden glow of the fire and the lamp that lit Mari's loom did little to chase the shadows from the corner of the room, and his eyes drifted shut.  
  
As he slid into slumber, he heard the woman's low voice rise in soft song, the rhythm a sister to the loom's music.  
  
"I have seen the lark soar high at morn, heard his song up in the blue. I have heard the blackbird pipe his note, the thrush and the linnet too. But there's none of them can sing so sweet My singing bird as you."

The loom clacked on, and Hercule's eyes drifted shut to Mari's soft voice.  
  
"If I could lure my singing bird from his own cozy nest...If I could catch my singing bird I would warm him on my breast... And it's on my heart my singing bird would sing himself to rest...would sing himself to rest..."

()()()()()()()  
  
It barely registered when Orikos released him, letting his head drop and his eyes close at last. Iolaus drew in a shuddering breath and tried to calm his racing heart, his panicked thoughts. He clenched his burning eyes tight shut and then opened them again, trying desperately to see something, anything, but it was as though he was deep in the earth with no torch to guide him. Not a shadow, not a glimmer broke that pall of blackness, for all his staring. "Gods," he whispered, a prayer born of desperation and fear.  
  
"There now. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Orikos' mild voice startled him, coming from right next to his ear. Iolaus jerked away, but the chains brought him up short. "Oh, dear. I guess it was." The madman giggled, and the sound sent shivers down the Iolaus' spine. "Well, it's over now, my friend. Or almost over. There are all kinds of wild beasts in the hills around our fair city, and I'm sure one of them will make a good meal of you. Commander!"  
  
The heavy door groaned open and Iolaus heard the creak of leather armor as the soldier came in. "Yes, Prefect?" Not Nikos. Iolaus relaxed slightly.  
  
"Take the prisoner to his cell and then gather your men. You are to take him into the wilds and leave him there. If the Gods smile upon him, and forgive him his crimes, he may survive. If not, it is in Their hands. Oh, and give him some clothes. The poor man looks cold."  
  
Hard hands released the manacles holding him to the floor and pulled him to his feet before turning him and shoving him roughly. Iolaus stumbled forward a few steps before hitting the doorpost painfully with his shoulder. Orikos giggled again, a merry sound that set Iolaus' teeth on edge, and then he was being pushed down the hall once again.  
  
Iolaus tried to listen, tried to picture the corridor, and then the guard room as he was chivvied along, but he was too tired and heartsick to do more than keep to his feet. The guard was kind enough to keep him from bashing into too many obstacles on that leagues long trip through the castle. After an eternity, he was pulled up short by hard hands on his arms, and the shackles were released. One final shove propelled him forward and against a far wall, and then the door closed and he was alone once more.  
  
In his darkness, the tiny cell seemed suddenly huge. Putting out a groping hand, he touched the wall and then put his back to it, breathing deeply to control the shudders that wracked him. Anger and panic had been driving Iolaus since last night, and now he was shaking like an autumn leaf as the temporary strength they leant left him. Finding his way to a corner, Iolaus braced himself and sank to the floor, drawing up his knees and hugging them to still the tremors. "What now?" he asked himself, and was surprised at how hoarse he still sounded. His throat felt raw, and he ached for water.  
  
The guardswoman, Sennet, had given him water. Was the bucket still in the room? It was worth a try, and Iolaus uncoiled himself from the corner. _The bucket had been by the door,_ he thought. _Just follow the wall and you'll hit it._ Leaving one hand trailing over the cool stones, Iolaus prodded forward with his toes for obstacles and then took a tentative step forward. A few steps later, he reached another corner. Turning, he tapped forward with his toe and then stepped out again.  
  
Success. His foot hit the bucket lightly, sending a splash of cold water over his foot. His fumbling fingers found the gourd a moment later and he took a long drink. Water had never tasted so good. It was sweeter than wine and quieted his gnawing hunger. Not wanting to lose the bucket, Iolaus sank to the floor next to it and tried to clear his mind. He closed his eyes, pretending he was just resting them; when he opened them again, he'd be able to see, able to fight. The pretence didn't help much, but it calmed the worst of his panic.  
  
Footsteps outside the door, and the rasp as the bar was raised announced the arrival of a coarse bundle of fabric, which the guard flung at his head. Hearing the missile, Iolaus put up his hand and caught it, much to his surprise. "Thanks. Any chance of breakfast, or is it lunchtime?"  
  
There was no answer, but he hadn't really expected one. The door closed again and Iolaus unwrapped the bundle, trying to figure out just what he'd been given. The fabric had a musty odor, dirty, and proved to be a pair of coarse woolen pants and a loose tunic, tied together with a length of string. Nothing loath, Iolaus scrambled into the clothes and used the string as a belt for the too loose pants. The odor made him wrinkle his nose and wonder what had happened to the last person to wear them, but then he decided he did not want to know.  
  
Drawing in on himself once again, Iolaus finally began to get warm. Then he felt further warmth on his bare foot. Holding out an exploratory hand, he realized it was the light from the tiny window. The rain must have passed; the sun was out. Leaving the dubious safety of the wall at his back, Iolaus edged forward until he could feel the sun on his face. He tilted his head up, and opened his eyes wide, but caught not the faintest glimmer of sunlight. Still, it was warm, and warm was something Iolaus had not been for too long.  
  
The warmth, the calm, and the lack of anyone pounding on him, plus the fact that he had not slept in well over a day, all combined to send him nodding. Iolaus fought it for a time, but then gave up and lay down on the hard floor, pillowing his aching head on his arms. He positioned as much of his body as he could manage into the sun's path, and then closed his eyes. Within moments, he was asleep.

()()()()()()()()  
  
"I'm getting too old for this crap," Sennet muttered. She pulled on her leather jerkin and tightened the straps that held her sword in place. Giving her helm a final polish with a bit of soft cloth, she pulled it on as well. It had been too long a night, and too short a sleep, which always left the venerable soldier grumpy. "Next month, I retire. Or the month after." Stifling a yawn, she closed her footlocker and twitched a wrinkle out of her blanket. The barracks were her home, and she liked to keep things tidy.  
  
With vague thoughts about the little plot of land she might buy on her savings, Sennet strode down to the guardroom. A cold meal waited on the table for second watch, and she grabbed a handful of olives from their dish. The room was full of the sound of men and women arguing, laughing, and eating. It was the sound of her life, and Sennet knew she would miss it when she retired.  
  
"How's your grandson, Sergeant?" Telos called from across the room. The young man was engaged in an arm wrestling match with one of the armorers, and losing badly. He was a good kid, she reflected, but needed to pick his battles more discriminately.  
  
Sennet sat down on the bench, grabbing a maza cake from the pile. She broke off a chunk of the barley bread and dipped it in her coffee. "He's fine, lad. Cut his first tooth last sevenday, and he's driving my daughter- in-law crazy." She spat out a hull and laughed as Telos lost the battle at last, his gauntleted hand crashing to the table. "I think Dina is coming back from her leave tomorrow, Tel. You might try her out, if you want to win against someone."  
  
"Dina's arm is still in a cast, Sarge!" objected Telos.  
  
She downed the rest of her tepid coffee and polished one of the last of the autumn apples on her sleeve. "That's what I mean, lad. You'd stand a chance then." She ducked as the young man flicked a chicken bone at her head and sent it back with a good-natured chuckle. She'd miss her kids, most of all.  
  
Speaking of kids.... Sennet looked toward the middle cell, wondering what happened to the prisoner from last night. "Is cell two still occupied?" she asked the room at large.  
  
The watch commander answered, coming down the wide stone stairs into the suddenly still room. "Yes, it is. But we are moving him out within the hour." He pointed to a handful of guards, including Sennet in their number. "He is still a danger, according to the Prefect, and we will take all necessary precautions until he is out of our hands. He is to be left to the will of the Gods. Where you leave him, is up to you, so long as it is far from the city and he cannot follow you back."  
  
Something wasn't right. Sennet assumed the prisoner had been convicted of the crime they had accused him of, but this sentencing was far too hurried. "Sir, with all due respect, should we not question the man further as to his mission here? Discover who he is working for, who he reports to?"  
  
Cutting off her questions with a curt gesture, the watch commander said, "You'll do as ordered, Guard Sennet. I know you have many years of experience," he smiled nastily at the woman, "many, many years, but I assure you I am able to do my job without your advice. Thank you all the same."  
  
Schooling her expression, hiding the anger his words had engendered, Sennet replied only, "Yes, Sir," and said nothing more. Her mind didn't stop working, though. The whole thing was damned strange. Aristarkus was not known for haphazard justice. All this hurry had to be the wizard's doing, and for that alone she started to doubt. Maybe the little man was innocent after all.  
  
The commander waited for a moment longer, presumably for any further comments, then turned and marched back up the stairs. Silence reigned for a moment longer, before someone muttered, "What's got his balls in a twist?"  
  
The room laughed briefly; they had all felt the commander's malice, even the new hires, and knew it could be aimed at them just as easily. "Well, let's get ready to move out, people. Has anyone fed the prisoner today?" They would get farther if the fellow wasn't fainting from hunger. No one answered her question. "I'll assume that's a no, then. Ares' left nut, are we barbarians in Pinios?"  
  
Grabbing some maza, she folded some of the roast chicken and cheese into the bread and carried her impromptu sandwich to the cell door. She opened the peephole and looked in on the prisoner. The blond man was curled on his side, asleep in a pool of sunlight. "Just like my daughter-in-law's cat", she muttered. Shaking her head, she lifted the bar and walked into the cell.  
  
Before she was more than a step inside, the man was awake and standing with his back to the far wall. It was a fighting stance, or near enough, but his eyes wide and darting. "Easy, now. I'm not going to hurt you." Natural enough to be skittish after what Nikos put him through. At least he was clothed now, though the rags they had given him had seen far better days.  
  
"Sennet. Thank the Gods." The relief in the man's voice was palpable, and he relaxed against the wall, dropping his half-raised fists. It was confusing, and almost insulting. He was an enemy, after all, and she was a sworn foe to the enemies of this city, but he was smiling like she was a long lost friend. "Is that chicken I smell?" He sniffed and then turned a charming smile toward the doorway. "Could you sneak me a bit? I'm starving."  
  
"I have some right here, boy." She took a step to the side, letting the door swing closed behind her. His eyes did not follow, and something inside her gut went cold. Those eyes had been so animated last night, crinkled with a tired smile despite everything the prisoner had been through. He had watched her every move, his mind in motion behind his darting gaze. Now, the mind was in motion, but his eyes focused on nothing at all.  
  
"The name's Iolaus, remember? And I haven't been a boy in a very long time," he said in a gently chiding voice, his face turned toward where she had been standing a moment before. "You brought me some chicken? I'm in love." He took a tentative step forward, his hand outstretched.  
  
Taking pity, Sennet crossed the distance and put the bread and meat into his groping palm. Not wanting to believe, she asked softly, "Did they blind you, boy?"  
  
Iolaus grimaced, and then took a big bite of the barley bread. "I thought we covered that whole 'boy' thing." He felt his way to the water bucket and then sat down with his meal. After a long pause, he said, "It was Orikos. He poured some kind of black liquid into my eyes. Burns like Tartarus." He bit into the cheese, but his appetite seemed to be waning quickly. "Is this permanent? Has he done it before?"  
  
The guardswoman wanted badly to give some other answer, but she couldn't. "Yes, and yes. If there is a counter to his magic, I do not know it. Finish your food; we're leaving soon." Turning, she left without another word, her mind in a whirl. This was wrong. She felt in her gut that this boy was innocent, that he'd been railroaded for some reason, and now he would be abandoned to die, blind and helpless. Her bad mood returned in force as she realized that there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.

()()()()()()()()  
  
The mounted guards pulled him along at a running stumble, the ropes at his wrists his only guide. Time and again, Iolaus lost his footing on the muddy road, the occasional stone bruising his bare feet and then his knees as he fell. It hurt more, however, to be dragged, so he scrambled to his sore feet and stumbled on.  
  
Gods, he was tired. His eyes burned and watered, no matter how he blinked them, and all was still dark as the deepest moonless night. Darker. Iolaus strained to see anything, but all he could see was blackness. His body ached from the abuse it had taken and was continuing to receive, and all he really wanted to do was lay down somewhere and sleep for a week and hope that when he awoke the nightmare would be over. If Sennet was to be believed, though, it would never be.  
  
The ropes were tugged again, and Iolaus nearly lost his footing. "Hey! Will you cut that out? I'm having a bad enough day without you yanking my arms out of their sockets." His only answer was guttural laughter and a sudden pain across his shoulders. "Ok," he said, "Who brought the whip? Ow!" Another line of fire crossed the first, and Iolaus decided to shut up for a while and concentrate on the road under his sore feet. Tweaking the Cyclops' beard had always brought his spirits up, but things were looking bleak right now. _Things are looking downright dark_, he thought, and stifled a hysterical laugh.  
  
"Shaddup!" The guard holding his rope jerked it again, and then there was a steady pull to the right. They were leaving the road, stopping, and the surface under his feet turned from rocky mud to soft leaves.  
  
"Much better. I could walk on this stuff all day, guys." The blow came out of nowhere, cracking across his face and knocking him to the ground. "Oh, yeah," he muttered. "Much softer to fall onto." He wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth and spat toward where he thought the guard was standing.  
  
"Why you little..."  
  
_Direct hit!_ His glee was short lived as a hard hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back sharply. Iolaus held his face still, not wincing, and waited for the next blow to fall.  
  
"Enough, Ezra. He's goading you, and you're letting him. Let the little guy go and let's get this over with." Sennet's tired voice was a balm to the blind warrior. He even forgave her the 'little guy' comment; hers had been the only voice of mercy for the last several nightmarish hours. "Come on." She helped Iolaus to stand and steadied him while he caught his balance. "Let's go."  
  
It was Sennet who took his reins this time, and the one who set the pace. The floor of the forest was much kinder to his feet, and Iolaus found he was stumbling far less often. The respite was welcome, and he found he had time now to think about what might happen next.  
  
The guards had orders to leave him in the forest, to live or die at the will of the Gods. Iolaus had no intention of leaving things up to the Gods, given their self-serving agendas; nor did he intend to die. Therefore, he had to live. Simple plan. Iolaus liked simple plans. This one was complicated, however, by the veil over his eyes, and by what sounded like a small army of well-armed guards, most of whom would rather hit him than help him.  
  
After climbing uphill for a while, the ground leveled out. The air felt cooler; they must be well into the tree line now, and Iolaus tilted his head up to hear the rustling to the leaves. Beeches, he thought, or birch. Something tall. He knew this kind of forest well, having hunted across most of Greece at one time or another. If he could survive anywhere, it would be here.  
  
"This is good enough," the group's leader said. "Wolves have been reported in the area; they can have him."  
  
Iolaus kept his feet as he was shoved hard between his shoulders, until he collided with a smooth barked tree. He caught himself with his bound hands; then he was turned and secured to the trunk with his arms over his head. "Wolves? Wait a second...at least give me a fighting chance, here. Loosen the ropes a little and leave me a knife or something."  
  
He should have expected the blow, but it barreled out of the darkness and buried a fist like a sledgehammer into his abdomen. All he could do was gasp, his hands too tightly secured to turn or pull away. Thankfully a second blow did not follow, letting him catch his sundered breath. "We aren't leaving anything to chance, runt. In fact," the leader paused, and Iolaus could hear the smile on his face. It was a nasty one. "Sennet, why don't you do the honors? Bloody him up. That'll attract something, for certain. We'll wait for you back on the road. No need for more than one of us to risk the wrath of the Gods." A laugh nasty enough to echo the smile writhed into Iolaus' ears, as he tried to take a deep breath against the ache in his stomach.  
  
Crunching footsteps, as the troop of soldiers marched back through the undergrowth. Uneasy shifting of one woman's weight on the damp leaves. A muttered curse, one that had made Iolaus smile the first time he had heard it. "Why his left nut, Sennet?" he asked. "Why not his prick, or his right foot?"  
  
He startled a laugh out of the stern guardswoman. "Eh, boy, it's just somethin' to say. My father always said that, and I guess I picked it up." Silence, then the sound of steel being drawn. Iolaus tensed, and wondered if he had read the woman wrong after all. "Easy, lad. You've nothing to fear from me. The others have gone, and we only have a few minutes." She stepped close, working on the ropes that held his sore arms to the birch. The woman smelled of leather, soap, and the mink oil she used to polish her helm. It was a comforting smell, a warrior's smell, familiar and soothing.  
  
With a final tug, his hands came free. "Thank you." He rubbed the raw skin of his wrists, feeling them slick with new blood, and grimaced as he felt the damage there.  
  
"Don't thank me yet. I can't do much more than this. But, there's a stream about fifty paces to your left. Follow it upstream and you'll find shelter. Now, scream."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Scream. I'm going to gut you." She took his hands and then he felt the cool steel of her blade wiping its flat side across his bloody wrists. Suddenly, her plan became clear and he had to smile at her audacity.  
  
"What about the rest of the blood, on your clothes?" She was wrapping his wrists now, tucking the ends of the bandages into the edge of the binding so they would not unravel. As an afterthought, he drew in a deep breath and let vent a scream that would do any dying warrior proud.  
  
He must have startled her, because when she spoke again, her voice had a quiver. "I, um, most of it got on my cloak, which I used for your shroud." The warm folds of fabric fell about him, heavy on his shoulders, and she fumbled with the catch. "I can't do anything else for you, boy." Steel was drawn again and a small knife was pressed into Iolaus' palm. He folded his fingers around it gratefully, testing the weight and balance before tucking it into his rope belt.  
  
"I guess this means you believe me?" he asked.  
  
She snorted, and he heard her rustling around in the brush. Before he could even venture to guess what she was doing, a smooth barked sapling was pressed into his hand. It felt strong, and he reached up to find it was just a little taller than he himself stood. Weapon and guide, and a better than he could find for himself at this point. "Again, thank you. You'd better go; they'll be wondering what's taking so long."  
  
More silence, then his arm was grasped in a warrior's clasp, which he returned firmly. "Will you be alright, lad?" Her voice was thick with emotion, and she cleared her throat to hide it. "You said you had a friend. Will he find you?"  
  
Iolaus nodded. "Of course I'll be all right. I have a weapon, and a way to shelter, and I know the wild lands like the back of my hand. They don't call me the Golden Hunter for nothing." He put bravado into his voice, hoping to make himself believe as much as for Sennet's comfort. "You can do me a favor, though, if it won't put you in danger."  
  
"If I can, I will." She released his arm and he heard her gather the reins of her horse and then the creak of leather as she mounted. She had to be away, before the others came looking.  
  
"You're right. My friend will be trying to find me. Could you keep an eye out for him and let him know where you left me?" Herc wouldn't wait at the crossroads forever, but Iolaus wouldn't wait to be rescued either. There had to be a way to reverse this blindness, and he was going to find it, the sooner the better. "You'll know him when you see him. He's a head and a bit taller than me, with brown hair and a weird little divot in his chin. His name is, um, Hercules." He waited for the inevitable outburst.  
  
Sennet did not disappoint. "Hercules? The son of Zeus? Why didn't you say something before?"  
  
He had thought about it, during that joke of a trial, but realized it would only have put the demigod in danger. The outcome of his arrest had been a forgone conclusion, from the moment he stepped into town, though he still had no idea why. He turned his face toward Sennet and answered her question with a question. "Do you think it would have done any good? No one would have believed me."  
  
She sighed. "Probably not. Gods go with you, Iolaus," Sennet said. More practically, she added, "Be careful. The watch commander wasn't lying about the wolves." Then she turned her horse and rode away.  
  
"Wonderful," Iolaus muttered listening to the hoof beats growing fainter and fainter before dying away altogether, lost amid the rustle of leaves and the sigh of the wind through the trees. "Alone at last."  
  
The enormity of his predicament came to him then, and Iolaus had to sit down for a moment. Alone, in hostile territory, battered, sleep deprived, and Gods-be-damned blind to boot. The giggle that erupted was half hysterical, half a simple appreciation for the absurdity of life. "I feel like I'm in one of Euripides' tragedies," he mused, taking a deep breath to cleanse the shaky feeling from his gut. "All I need now is some vengeful God or other to take a hand, and the plot will be complete."  
  
It was easy to just sit, and not think too hard about what he was going to, but it was not in Iolaus to sit and do nothing for long. His restless energy demanded motion, even if he couldn't see where he was going, so he grasped the staff Sennet had gifted him and turned toward where she had said the stream would be found.

Chapter Five  
  
He smelled the stream before he heard it, a smell like the earth after a thunderstorm. Then he heard the sound of water chuckling over rocks, flowing quickly downstream from the mountains to the north. Iolaus quickened his hesitant steps, sliding his feet forward with greater surety as he grew used to letting his ears and his staff 'see' for him. It was no proof against stubbed toes or stone bruises, but the staff kept him from banging his head against low branches. Thankfully, the forest floor was carpeted with a layer of last year's autumn leaves, decayed by a season of rain and snow. The surface was forgiving to his bare feet, and soft enough that he made little noise as he walked.  
  
There was an open area ahead, he thought. The trees were thinning, and then the leaf mould underfoot gave way to soft grass, and he could feel the sun on his face again. The stream was just ahead, and the ground sloped down until it reached the water's edge. Iolaus knelt and drank thirstily of the icy water. Snow melt, he thought, and runoff from the rains last night. Whatever its origins, it was ambrosia, and Iolaus drank his fill from his cupped hands.  
  
His lank and tangled hair brushed his hands as he bent his head again to drink. Iolaus wrinkled his nose in revulsion. It was filthy. _He_ was filthy. Two days of sweat, mud, and fear combined with the already rank odor from his ragged clothes, plus the dregs of whatever that black stuff was that Orikos had poured into his eyes. The wolves wouldn't need to do more than sniff the breeze to tell where he was, just now, although it was possible that his smell might just drive them away. Cold as the water was, it would get him clean. He was willing to chance the wolves. Decision made, Iolaus set his staff down on the bank of the stream and waded in.  
  
"Gods, that's cold!" he shivered, feeling his way forward with numbing toes. It was not a deep stream, more of a creek, but it was swollen with water from upstream and running with a fairly strong current. Not strong enough to make the hunter lose his footing, but enough to tug at him as he crouched down to duck his head. Holding on to a root, he submerged himself fully, shaking his head and letting the water carry away the dirt and stink of the last couple of days.  
  
He opened his eyes under water, blinking, and felt some of the burning ease. His bruises felt better, too, the icy current easing the swelling and taking some of the heat from his injuries. Finally, chilled through, Iolaus climbed out, shaking his head like a mongrel dog to rid himself of most of the water and then wringing out his clothes. He found his staff, and then lay down on the bank, enjoying the warmth of the sun after his frigid bath.  
  
He'd only rest for a minute, he promised himself. Just long enough for his clothes to dry, and no longer. His eyes, heavy as though they were weighted with coins, slid shut. Just a moment, just to rest....  
  
With a start, Iolaus woke, the echoes of the howl that had penetrated his sleep still ringing off of the hills. Still half asleep, he wondered what time it was; he couldn't feel the sun any longer. The grass was warm to touch, though, so it couldn't be much past twilight. Iolaus rubbed both hands briskly across his face, trying to wake up. Then a second howl answered the first, closer, and then a third. Iolaus found his staff and scrambled to his feet, checking to make sure he still had the knife in his belt. It was there, a comforting presence, though the little blade was not enough to fight off a wolf pack. "Time to find that shelter," he muttered, and set off upstream.  
  
A few cautious paces took him into the trees once again, the brook babbling at his right side, a guide and a comfort to him. The trees were thicker along the bank, though, and he stubbed his toes more than once on exposed roots and half buried rocks. He wished for his boots, and cursed again as he heard a wolf howl again, downstream but closer. His instinct told him to run, to find shelter, but every time he tried to walk faster than a snail's pace, he crashed into something else or banged his foot on some obstacle. It was so damned frustrating, and Iolaus' heart was hammering like a rabbit's foot thumping a warning. Then a new voice, singing from across the stream and not nearly far enough away, set him running.  
  
After no more than a handful of paces, something painful collided across Iolaus' shins, sending him into a rolling tumble. He lost his grip on the staff, and all his aches and bruises flared to life again as he came to a jarring stop against a tree stump. Choking off a howl of frustration, Iolaus reached down and cradled his stinging legs, feeling for new damage. A little abraded skin had been the cost of his tumble, but nothing worse. That and he had no idea where his staff had flown when he fell, nor in which direction lay the stream, his other guide.  
  
Hitting the forest floor in frustration, Iolaus laid his head back against the stump and closed his eyes. _Calm down, now_, he told himself. _Panic won't get you anywhere but on your ass again_. This was just so hard, moving like a cripple through woods when he should be running like one of the deer he hunted. It was as though the forest had turned against him, mocking him with memories of what he had lost. Bitter despair, held back with the need of the moment for too many hours, came welling up, and Iolaus nearly choked on it.  
  
This whole situation was so unfair. Some God must have it in for him; Ares or Hera, probably. Both of them seemed to delight in tormenting Hercules through his friends and family, and having to put up with a cripple, protect him from danger, would be a torment to the demigod. Because Iolaus would need protection; he had no illusions about that. Herc and he had made too many enemies in their years together, and all of them would come crawling out of the woodwork when they heard the news.  
  
_So, what are you going to do, boy? Lie down and die? Get up and get on with living, or else let the wolves take you now_. Iolaus' inner voice chided him, sounding suspiciously like his father. Eerily, his wolven chorus picked up again, yipping and howling until he thought the full pack must be calling. And they were close.  
  
"All right, Iolaus," he said to himself, "first things first. Get up." He stood, holding on to the stump like a lifeline. "Next, find your stick." It had been in his right hand, so it should be somewhere to his left now, turning back the way he had come. Nudging forward with his feet, Iolaus felt a disturbed patch of leaves, churned up by his stumbling flight. He cast about with his feet, then knelt and groped with his hands.  
  
A short eternity later, in which the howls had come closer than Iolaus was even remotely feeling comfortable with, his fingers encountered smooth wood. "There you are." He stood again, the weight of the staff a comfort in his hands, and then realized he'd lost track of the stream. Was it left, or right? Before him? _Calm, calm_. He took a deep breath, leaning his forehead on the sapling in his hands, and listened for water.  
  
Night breeze tugging his still damp hair. A whisper of leaves overhead, and the trees creaked as they swayed in the wind. The hesitant chirp of a bird, and the distant hoot of a hunting owl. In the brush, some small animal scuttled into hiding, disturbed by the low cries of the wolf pack and the blundering human in its forest. To his left, not so far away, water chuckled and gurgled to itself as it ran down from the mountains.  
  
Iolaus tilted his head, catching the sound more surely, and walked towards it, feeling ahead with the staff for obstacles. The tip of the wood found the fallen branch before the hunter, and he diverted around it with no more than a crackle of green twigs. Then, there was the little creek, and he started back upstream with surer steps. He had the trick of it now, prodding out with staff and hand and foot. Listening with both ears and skin, feeling the way the air brushed against him, eddying around the trees and rocks. He couldn't see the forest, not with his eyes, but he did not fall again, either.  
  
The wolves had gone quiet, save for the occasional distant howl. The hunter wasn't too surprised, though he was very pleased. Most wolves would rather hunt rabbit than men, especially this close to civilization. Men fought back; rabbits just died. _There's a moral there, like the stories that fellow Aesop tells_.  
  
It felt like he had been walking forever, and Iolaus began to worry he had missed the 'shelter' Sennet had promised. It would have been easy enough to miss, unless it was right in his path, but surely she would have said more than 'it's upstream' if it were needed. Wouldn't she?  
  
He was thinking of turning back and retracing his steps when the ground underfoot changed from packed leaves to packed dirt. It felt like a path, to his patting foot, and he confirmed it with his hands. It lead away from the stream and up a little hill. Relieved, he turned and followed it.  
  
The hill leveled out, and his staff struck something hollow and wooden a few moments later. It was a wall, covered with jasmine from the smell. "Finally!" He rested his head against the wall, breathing deeply of the sweet perfume and taking comfort in the possibility of a sanctuary at last. The wolves were not gone, however, and he had yet to introduce himself to whoever resided within. Groping along the wall, he found the door and knocked, calling, "Hello? Anyone home?" There was no answer, nor was there to his second knock.  
  
A moment's exploration located the latchstring, and the door creaked open slowly. Hoping there was not an irate homeowner waiting on the other side with a length of firewood, Iolaus poked his head in and called again. The only answer was a faint echo, and the sound of something scurrying, probably a field mouse.  
  
The room he stepped into smelled of cold ashes and old incense, myrrh and orris root he thought. It was chilly, the tile floor underfoot cold and the tiny hearth dead and full of half burnt wood and powdery ash. Following the wall, he discovered a bed set low to the floor and piled with blankets and pillows. Beyond that was a small desk, a chest covered with geometric carvings, and a longer table covered with rustling herbs, paper, and a pot of ink which his questing fingers did not quite catch as he knocked it over. "Oops," he said, and hoped he hadn't spilled too much.  
  
No one came to investigate the noise, and the whole place had a feeling of having been abandoned. "Well, I guess no one's home," Iolaus said to himself. His stomach rumbled in answer, and he patted it, making all kinds of promises he couldn't keep. The bed was calling his name; Iolaus was exhausted, the two catnaps he had managed having done little to give him rest. He followed the wall back to the low bed he had found and laid his staff down on the floor where he would be sure to find it again in the morning. Then he slipped between the blankets and was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow. 

()()()()()  
  
Gold-red sunlight shone into his eyes, and Iolaus blinked in the early- morning light. "Hey! I can see!" He sat up and laughed, the sound of his delight echoing slightly in the small chamber. He threw off the blankets and sprang out of bed, stretching muscles made tense by all the cautious movement and injuries of yesterday, and moved toward the door, fully intending to go outside and greet the day.  
  
Despite himself, though, he found himself drawn toward the inner door, one he had missed in his fumbling explorations last night. Hercules would be waiting for him, but he had to see what was on the other side of that door. He had to see who was singing.  
  
It was a woman, dressed in green robes so dark they were almost black, and holding a silver cup in both hands. She was facing Iolaus, standing on the other side of a plain altar made of willow and yew saplings bound together with pale rope.  
  
The woman wasn't beautiful, or even pretty. Her face was broad and rather plain, with a lumpish nose and lips that were too thin to be fashionable. Her lank red hair framed her face in straight braids that flattered her not at all. She was plump, and short, and her pale face was scarred with livid pox scars that spoke of a childhood illness gone untreated.  
  
Her voice, though.... Iolaus stood enraptured, listening to the woman sing. The notes were high and clear and sweet, like birdsong or like one of the Sirens, but without the madness they brought. Her homely face was transformed into something beyond mere beauty by the music as she sang to her Goddess, lifting the silver cup in offering to a triple faced statue on the rustic altar. It made him ache sweetly, so sweetly, and he wasn't surprised to feel tears run down his cheeks. The song was an offering, and a worthy offering at that, and Iolaus felt blessed to share in it.  
  
The canto drew to a quavering close, and the priestess filled the cup with wine. Startled from his rapture, Iolaus realized that it was Orikos' cup, the cup that had poured darkness into his eyes. The woman raised it to her lips. Alarmed, Iolaus cried out, "No! Stop!" and rushed forward, but she did not seem to hear him. She toasted the statue again, and then sipped from the cup. He reached the altar a second later, too late, and his heart sank.  
  
Nothing happened. The woman drained the cup and set it down again on the altar, resuming her song as she bowed to the figurine. "Hey, hello?" Iolaus waved his hand in front of the woman's eyes, but she didn't blink. He reached out to touch her arm, and gasped as his fingers passed through her like mist.  
  
The door opened, startling the warrior. Orikos walked through, his robes much less fine than Iolaus had last seen. With a snarl, the former prisoner leapt at his tormentor. Again he failed to connect, passing through the man altogether and stumbling into the wall, which ended his charge abruptly and a little painfully.  
  
Confused, Iolaus turned and started forward, but something held him in place. He was suddenly walking through mud, through chest-high quicksand, and making little progress. Meanwhile, Orikos and the singing woman were arguing over something. The angry words sounded like they were coming from far, far away, but he caught the gist of what Orikos was demanding.  
  
He wanted the cup, and she would not give it to him.  
  
Iolaus watched in helpless horror as the pale man grew angrier and angrier in the face of the woman's calm refusal. Finally, Orikos screamed a vile oath and knocked everything off of the altar in a sweeping gesture which ended with a blow, sending the woman to join the detritus on the floor. Still she was calm, her distress marked only by two tears making their way down her face as she picked up the little statue, cradling it with gentle hands.  
  
She was still holding it when she died. Orikos pulled a dagger from within his robes and plunged it into the priestess. Rubies spattered from her lips, the living light fading from her eyes. The wizard giggled, wiping the blade on her dress, and picked up the silver cup in his bloody hands. Dancing a little jig, he kissed the cup and then tucked it into his robes. Then he dragged the dead singer out the door, closing it behind him.  
  
Suddenly, Iolaus could move again. He ran to the door and flung it open, intending to send the damned wizard to Tartarus where he belonged, but there was no one there. Sunlight slanted down through a grove of yew and willow trees, but there was no wizard, no dead woman.  
  
"You're dreaming, Iolaus." The voice echoed through him, earthy and cold at the same time. A woman's voice, strong and rich. Iolaus turned to meet the speaker, and dread gripped him anew.  
  
The triple faced statue should have told him which god claimed this temple. The rope, the yew and willow, all symbols of the Goddess of the crossroads, of childbirth. Hecate, Goddess of magic and hedge-witchery, stood before him now, dark and terrible. Her hair was midnight black and tangled with willow and woodbine, and her eyes were the silver of the moon. When she spoke again, her voice resounded in his head, though her lips barely moved in a whisper. Her breath smelled of myrrh, and burnt offerings. "She was my handmaiden," the goddess said, and Iolaus blinked in surprise. Those had not been the words he had expected from this fearsome divinity.  
  
Something in her voice made Iolaus take a closer look, and he wondered at what he saw. There were tears standing in those silver eyes, echoes of the dead woman's silent weeping, and there were damp tracks down the goddess' cheeks where tears had all ready fallen. "I'm sorry," he said. "I tried to go to her, but...."  
  
The goddess made an impatient gesture, quieting the man. "Find my chalice, Iolaus. Bring it to me, and I will have justice. You are my chosen champion, Iolaus of Thebes, Iolaus of the Argonauts, friend of Zeus' bastard son, favored of Artemis and Aphrodite. You will serve me in this." Her voice was imperious, but her eyes were sorrowful, and the warrior's heart went out to her, despite his trepidation.  
  
"I'd love to help, but if I'm dreaming, that means that I'm still blind, in the waking world. Right?" Hecate nodded, to his disappointment. "Well, I'm going to have a little trouble finding your cup. If you could fix my eyes, I'd be glad to help you out."  
  
Hecate smiled, her silver eyes now cold and haughty. "After I went to all that work to make it happen? I think not. But I could not even if I would. The magic of my chalice took your sight; the magic of the chalice is the only thing that can return it. You do not need your eyes to accomplish this task, hero." She stroked the wood of the altar, turning her back on the warrior. Her fingers brushed over a red stain, still moist, and she touched the blood to her lips reverently.  
  
Iolaus was furious at the goddess' admission. He expressed his anger in motion, striding up to her and saying, "You made this all happen? Why? Why me? Why don't you get your chalice yourself? You're a goddess, aren't you? You have power enough to defeat a nit like Orikos. What do you need me for?"  
  
"Enough questions, mortal!" Hecate said, her voice echoing like an empty tomb. "You will serve me, or you will spend your days as a sightless beggar, what few days remain to you. Orikos killed my handmaiden and took my chalice and I want it back. That is all you need understand." She stalked away, picking up her altar offerings and replacing them haphazardly.  
  
Iolaus followed, elbows cocked and his hands on his hips. "Oh, I understand well enough. Your priestess is killed, and you care more about getting back some dumb relic than about human life. Mine or your 'handmaiden's'."  
  
Hecate's eyes flashed black fire in their silver depths. "Have a care, mortal. It is because I desire vengeance that I need my chalice. Orikos slew my handmaiden, she whom I loved. I cannot act against him so long as he holds my cup. Only take it from him and I will wreck my revenge on him a thousand fold."  
  
The warrior was taken aback. "She whom you...you loved her? Like, love love?" Such a thing was not unheard of, but the gods did not usually fall for their clergy in that way, except sometimes Cupid, and he was a little weird. Love for their devotion, yes, but not for themselves. He put his hand on the goddess' arm, and it was warm and alive under his dream touch. "Why can't you take it from him yourself, Lady? You have power that frightens me, and I fight monsters for a living."  
  
The look she turned on him was almost human. "It was my gift to my beloved. I cannot harm the holder of the cup, nor work my magics against him. It was in the crafting, the forging of my Influence and Hephaestus' skill into a vessel of power. It is an attribute of the cup, and one I cannot change, to my sorrow." She looked away again, obviously striving for the haughty tone she had shown earlier, but failing. "Now, hero, will you serve me in this?"  
  
But Iolaus had seen her other face, the face of one who had lost everything and did not know quite how to go on, and his reply was gentle. "Why didn't you just ask me? I would have helped, whether I needed the cup for my own use or not."  
  
Hecate shook her head, dislodging one of the willow reeds. "I could not be sure. You and my nephew have an...interesting relationship with my kith and kin. You are in the business of helping mortals against Our kind. I thought if I gave you a sufficient reason, you would have no choice but to help me." She reached out and brushed Iolaus' cheek, looking into his eyes, and he saw grief and guilt there. "For what it is worth, I am sorry. The chalice will heal you, if you bring it to me before the dark of the moon."  
  
Iolaus looked at the bloodstained tiles on the floor, the ruddy stains marring the altar, and remembered the homely woman's song with grief and regret at her passing. "I'll do what I can, Lady. But you haven't exactly made it easy for me."  
  
Hecate laughed, a surprisingly youthful sound for the ancient goddess. "If being a hero were easy, everyone would do it. But you shall have help. It will come in the morning. For now, sleep and do not dream. Oh, and the salve is in the yellow bowl. Don't forget now." She smiled kindly at him, and then he was back in bed and closing his eyes, and wondering if Herc would be waiting for him when he woke to the darkness once again.

Chapter Six  
  
Hercules awoke to the smell of baking bread. The loom was silent and unattended in the corner, Mari nowhere to be seen, but he could hear her singing in the kitchen. The homey smell and the singing had invaded his dreams, and he had been in Deianeira's arms for a short while, enough so that his waking was painful and sad. He closed his eyes and tried to return to his dream world, but it was gone.  
  
With a murmured morning greeting to his dead wife, Hercules rolled out of bed and went in search of food, pulling on his boots as he went. Mari was all ready eating, a thick slice of bread and honey in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. "Morning, layabed," she said with a laugh. "I was wondering when you'd get up. Hungry?"  
  
His stomach rumbled in answer and she laughed again. "I guess I am. I need to get going, though. My friend hasn't shown up, yet, and I need to go look for him. If' he'd arrived last night, I'm sure someone would have pointed him here."  
  
"Eat first," she commanded, cutting a thick slice of bread and pushing the honey crock across to him. The bread was delicious, still warm from the outdoor oven, and the tea she poured was strong and fragrant. "It's my own blend," she said when he asked about the drink. "Hibiscus and chamomile, with lemongrass and cinnamon for flavor."  
  
She pressed another loaf on him, for the road, and thanked him once again for his help in rounding up her sheep. "Bring your friend by when you find him and I'll feed you both. Maybe you can take some of my cloth to Athens for me, for the festival, no?"  
  
"I make no promises, but we'll do what we can. We'll see you soon. I'm sure he's just camped somewhere and I'll meet him on the road." Hercules wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince, but if it was himself, it hadn't worked. He had a bad feeling about his friend's continued absence, and he couldn't shake it.  
  
The weather was the direct opposite of his mood. It was a perfect spring day, Demeter in all her glory, and everywhere he looked, he saw splashes of color leaping out of the winter landscape. Verdant green was creeping over the gray and brown land, and wild flowers bloomed in mad perfusion wherever the sun smiled. The air was alive with the scent and sounds of life renewing itself.  
  
If Iolaus had been at his side, the day would have been perfect. The hunter loved the springtime almost as much as 'Dite, and he loved festivals even more. The trip to Athens would have been filled with quicksilver conversations, hunting, fishing, the occasional bandit to pummel or damsel to rescue, and above all the joy of life that Iolaus seemed to secrete through his skin. His absence, now, felt like a missing tooth. Nothing seemed quite right.  
  
It was midmorning, and the day was warming up, drying out the road and making walking easier. Hercules estimated he'd be in Pinios by late afternoon, at the latest, if he ran into no distractions. Surely Iolaus would be somewhere between here and there, if he was not in the city itself. As the miles wore away with no sign, however, the demigod's apprehension grew, and he found his steps speeding up until he was almost running.  
  
So it was that he missed seeing the old woman until he was right on top of her, avoiding a collision by a hair's breadth with a twist of his hips and a stumble. "Sorry, grandmother." He caught his breath, steadying the ancient, bent woman with a gentle hand on her elbow. She was a very old woman, the lines on her face like a map of all Greece, and her hair wispy and white as the snows of winter just passed. She was dressed in a motley collection of rags and a wine-stained cloak, and was leaning on a staff of yew.  
  
Her eyes were bright, though, when she looked up at Hercules. "Ah! Apollo in leather! If only I were ninety again, my dear boy." She wiggled her eyebrows and grinned up at the startled warrior, then bent to pick up her parcels.  
  
"Wait," Hercules said, coming back to himself. "Let me help you." He quickly gathered up her bags and slung them over his shoulder. "We seem to be going the same way." Offering her his arm, and praying that her fingers would stay clear of his backside, they started back up the road.  
  
Despite her age, the woman's step was spry, and the time didn't drag too much. She kept her hands to herself too, much to Hercules' relief. "My name is Oma," she said, "and I have a slight flaw in my character. You are Hercules, are you not?" Her voice was cracking, and a little mumbled due to lack of teeth, but he understood her well enough and looked down at the tiny woman in surprise.  
  
"That's right. How did you know?"  
  
Oma slipped a stoneware flask from the folds of her cloak and took a long drink. Hercules caught a whiff that made his eyes water; it was raki, a potent drink made from distilled ouzo. She offered him the flask, and didn't seem too surprised when he declined. "You're big as an ox, and there's an air of nobility around you. Plus, I saw King Iphicles of Corinth once and you look just like him. He's said to be your brother, but by a different father of course. In addition, you're running toward trouble, rather than away from it. As you don't seem to be altogether mentally deficient, that would make you a hero, as the son of Zeus is said to be. Therefore, you are he." She took another swallow from her flask and burped contentedly. "You are going to Pinios?"  
  
"Uh, yes. Yes I am. Is that the trouble you spoke of?" Hercules hitched up her bundles on his shoulder. Her speech had surprised him, but it had been a bit of a relief as well. Most of the time his name engendered either awe or hostility. This woman showed only a straightforward acceptance, and it was refreshing.  
  
Oma nodded, answering his question. "Yes, Pinios is full of troubles these days. You must know that, or why would you be racing towards it like a runner from Marathon, eh? Or is it something else that sets wings to your heels?"  
  
"I have a friend who may be in trouble there. He was supposed to meet me yesterday, but he never arrived. What can you tell me about a wizard in Pinios? I've heard he's the cause of all the troubles."  
  
"Feh!" The old woman turned her head aside and spat into the dirt, then took a long swallow from her flask, emptying it. She threw it over her shoulder, where it shattered against a tree. "Orikos. He's the one you've heard about. He's a sickness rotting the region from the inside out. Ever since he showed up in Pinios, it's been like Tartarus on earth."  
  
She told the tale of the wizard's rise to power, of Aristarkus' apparent inability to curb his excesses, and the change in the fortunes of the poorer people of Pinios. The longer she spoke, the more alarmed Hercules grew, until at last she stopped walking and looked up at him in concern. "Boy, you're trembling like a racehorse at the starting gate. I know your knees don't bend to many, but you'll do me the courtesy of kneeling for a moment."  
  
The request was strange, but the old woman's voice brooked no disobedience. Hercules dropped to one knee and a heartbeat later Oma had scrambled onto his back. She weighed no more than a feather, resting as lightly on his back as goose down, and she tucked her tiny feet into his belt. "Now, run, if you've a mind to."  
  
They made a strange sight, Hercules was certain. A warrior pelting up the road with an ancient beldam clinging to his back like a burr and drinking raki, clearly having the time of her life. Now and again she'd break into song, and the lyrics would as often as not turn his ears pink. Hercules had thought Iolaus sang some bawdy songs but the hunter would have found a kindred spirit in Oma.  
  
Still, he made better time with her on his back then on his arm, and soon they were within sight of the walled city of Pinios. The demigod trotted to a stop and knelt again, letting the old woman clamber down. "Aye, me!" she exclaimed, fanning herself and staggering a little. "I haven't had a ride like that since my eighth husband died, rest his soul." She smiled at Hercules' blush, and pinched his cheek in the manner of grandmothers everywhere. "You're a good boy, Hercules. Now, go find your friend. Just be careful of the guards; most of them answer to Orikos."  
  
Hercules handed her the bundle of parcels he'd been carrying. "Thank you for your counsel, grandmother. Usually, though, I just go in the front door and start asking questions. Subtlety is not exactly my strong point."  
  
Oma cackled. "No. I can see that. But when you are able to punch your way through most obstacles, who needs subtlety?" She patted him on the arm and then said, "Still, this might be a good day to practice. Orikos has many guards. Enough even to bring low the Son of Zeus, I think. Have a care in Pinios, my strong friend. Walk softly and be sure of whom you are asking your questions if you do not want to find the inside of a cell before you find your friend."  
  
"Cells don't worry me too much, but you may have a point." He looked up the hill to the southern gates of the city. Two very large soldiers stood sentinel at the portal, and more patrolled the ramparts. To Hercules' eyes, Pinios resembled a city under siege, or preparing for battle, rather than a prosperous city in peacetime, as this was. It looked ominous, and his concern for his friend grew stronger. "Can you make your way from here, Oma? I should...."  
  
The old woman made vague shooing motions, as if setting a bird to flight. "Go, go! Find your friend, and then come find me and we'll drink together in celebration!" She raised her flask and drained it, then threw the empty container over her shoulder. It smashed against a rock, sending shards of fired clay flying. "I live behind Zorba's Tavern. Look for the sign of the broken plate. Go!" she repeated, giving the demigod a push toward the city.  
  
"Right. Until then." He loped up the hill, only to be stopped at the gate. He'd been expecting this, from Oma's warning, and allowed himself to be stayed by the crossed pikes before him, though it rankled. The two soldiers were almost bigger than he was, though mortal, and it looked as though their armor had not been properly tended in some time. They reeked of old sweat and wine must, and the one on the right had no chin at all. "Hello," Hercules said pleasantly. "I have business in Pinios. May I pass?"  
  
"What business?" the one on the left asked with a sneer. "You have no wares, so you're no trader. You have no sword, so you're no fighter. In fact, you have no visible means of support whatsoever. What do you think, Nikos?"  
  
The one on the right, the one with no chin and a mouth full of rotten teeth, looked Hercules from top to toes and said, "He looks strong. Maybe he's here for a job. Or maybe he's here to make trouble." He leaned in, breathing his foul breath across Hercules' face.  
  
For a long moment, Hercules missed the equally fragrant but less nauseating smell of anise and wintergreen from Oma's flask. He took an involuntary step back, into cleaner air, and replied. "Neither. I'm looking for..."  
  
"Tomas! You're here!" A third soldier strode up to the tableau, knocking aside the pikes and taking Hercules by the shoulders. To his surprise, he realized the guard was a woman, a thing not unheard of but not terribly common either. She was an older woman, about the same age as his mother or maybe a bit younger, but hard and toughened by the same years that had softened and gentled Alcmene. "You look surprised to see me, Tomas. Don't you recognize your Aunt Sennet?"  
  
He was about to contradict the woman when something caught his eye. She was wearing the green stone pendant that Iolaus had inherited from his father. Hercules looked from it, to her eyes and saw the warning there. "Aunt Sennet!" he said at last. "You look so different from when I saw you last. Did you cut your hair?" The look of relief that flashed across her dark eyes told him he had made the right answer. The other two guards looked bored now, instead of predatory, and the pikes went back to their neutral positions.  
  
She drew him into a brisk embrace, and then clasped his arm in a warrior's greeting. "Well, it's been a few years. Come in, and welcome to Pinios. We have many things to talk about."  
  
"That we do," he replied, keeping an affable expression on his face with an effort as she pulled him through the gate. The expression lasted until they rounded the corner, then he stopped her with one hand. "Where did you get that amulet?"  
  
Sennet looked over her shoulder, and then shook her head. "We can't talk here." She tried to pull away but his grip was like iron, and his eyes demanded answers. Lowering her voice, the woman said, "I take it you are Hercules?" The demigod nodded tightly. "Good. Your friend is alive. I will take you to him, but we cannot talk now. Trust me. There are many ears in Pinios."  
  
Hercules glared at her for a moment longer, then released her arm. "All right. Lead the way."

()()()()()()  
  
A clash and a clatter woke Iolaus the second time, if the first could be called a true waking. Startled, his groping hand touched the staff and sent it skittering away across the tiles. "Herc?" he said hopefully, as he threw the covers back and stood up.  
  
A soft gasp sent his hopes sinking. His friend was not the promised help, it seemed. Herc was probably still back at the crossroads. That gasp had sounded awfully young, too, so the owner was probably not a threat. "Uh, hello. Could you help me find my staff? I think it went over there." He started walking toward where he thought the stick had rolled away to, patting the floor with his foot as he went.  
  
"Where's Kythis?"  
  
Very young, that voice. Not more than ten years, maybe eleven. And frightened. Iolaus stopped his explorations and turned to face the voice's owner. It was hard to tell by the sound if it was a girl or a very young boy. "Who is Kythis?" he asked, though he was afraid he knew the answer.  
  
Bare feet slapped against the tiles as the child moved a little closer. "You were sleeping in her bed. Who are you? What are you doing here? Where is she?" Frightened, but bold.  
  
Iolaus bent and retrieved the staff, then walked back to the bed and sat down. "Was she the priestess here?" Silence met his question, and he wondered for a moment if the child had gone. Then he realized she was probably either nodding or shaking her head in answer. "I, uh, I can't see."  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry. Yes, she is." A little weight settled on the bed next to him. "I'm Rina. Kythis is my friend. She makes medicine that helps my grandfather. The rain kept me from coming to see her all week, but this morning is so pretty, I had to come to the temple. She sings so beautifully, it makes me cry sometimes. Have you heard her sing? Where is she, anyway?"  
  
The fear had gone, apparently, and Iolaus smiled at the little girl's prattle, but his heart sank at the news he had to deliver. Reaching out, he found her small hand and took it in his. "I'm sorry, Rina. There's no easy way to tell you this, and a child shouldn't have to hear it." He took a deep breath and said, "Kythis is dead."  
  
The little hand whipped out of his and he heard her scramble away. "Liar! She's not dead! Why are you saying that? Kythis! Kythis!" She ran into the other room, banging the door open and calling for her friend. Iolaus sighed and followed after, finding his way by feel and the memory of his dream.  
  
"Rina?" Her voice was further away, and he thought she was outside. "Rina!" Sudden fear filled him. What if the wolves had not gone away? Usually the animals were nocturnal, but there was always a chance you would find one that was late to bed. He found the outer door, partially open, and was listening hard for any sound of the girl when he heard her scream.  
  
Terror gripped his heart, and he suddenly realized he had left his knife back in the bedroom. No time to retrieve it, he followed the scream with stumbling feet. "Rina! Where are you?" Willow branches brushed over him as he passed through the grove, startling him a little until he was through them. "Rina!"  
  
Then he was hit by a tiny hailstorm of fists. "Murderer! You killed her!" The girl flailed at him, weeping and furious. The odor of death reached him then, and he understood. She must have found the body.  
  
"Oh, Rina. You shouldn't have had to see that." He knelt, ignoring the childish blows, and put down his staff. "I didn't kill her, I swear. Rina, please listen." He reached out and caught her arms, stilling the whirlwind. "Listen to me. I did not kill Kythis. I found the temple empty and spent the night there. That's all. Please believe me."  
  
"Liar!" The voice was still full of tears and anger. "If you didn't kill her then who did?" She struggled in his hands, and he released her, not wanting to frighten the child. The underbrush rustled as she moved away and he wondered if she would run now, and bring the guards back to take him into custody again. If they did, he didn't think his life would be worth an obol. "Her eyes are open. She looks scared." She hadn't gone far, no more than a few paces.  
  
Shuffling forward, his hands found the cold flesh of the murdered priestess. Shuddering, he felt gently up the planes of her arm to her face, brushing lightly over the braids he had seen in his dream. He found her eyes and closed them. Rina was silent. "I have nothing for Charon," said Iolaus, sitting back. He had only seen the woman briefly, in Hecate's dream, but he mourned along with the little girl.  
  
A coin was pressed into his hand, and he murmured a thank you before placing it in her mouth. "Safe journey, Kythis." He picked up a handful of dirt and placed it on her body, followed by two more. It was a symbolic burial, but enough to make her soul acceptable to the Gods. "Could you get my cloak from the temple, Rina? We can wrap her in it, so she won't be cold for the crossing."  
  
They wrapped the body, tucking in her sandals and some bread Rina had also brought back, along with what felt like an amber bracelet. "What does the clearing look like, Rina? Is it pretty?" Iolaus turned his face up as the sun came out from behind a cloud, and the wind was rustling through the willow trees. He could almost picture Kythis' resting place, but not quite.  
  
The girl seemed to believe him, now, that he had not killed her friend. Her anger and fear had fled as they worked together to prepare the priestess for her final journey. "She's lying in a patch of ivy, and the leaves rise up over her head. There's willow trees all around, almost in a circle, and jasmine. This was one of her favorite groves. She must have crawled here before she d-died." She started crying again and Iolaus knelt and took the girl into his arms. "I want her back, Iolaus."  
  
The hunter's eyes were not dry. "I know you do." He held her until she pulled away, and then wiped her eyes with his thumb. "Let's go wash up, okay?" She nodded under his hand, sniffing.  
  
They walked to the stream together, Iolaus' hand on the girl's shoulder. The water was just as cold this morning as it had been last night, and just as delicious. Iolaus drank his fill, quieting the rumblings of hunger from his stomach, and considered what to do next. Hercules would either be still at the crossroads and waiting for him, or he was looking for Iolaus along the road. Or he might have set out for Athens, thinking Iolaus would catch up. He could not remember what the moon had looked like the last time he had seen the sky. There had been too many clouds. He thought it was waning, but wasn't certain.  
  
"Rina, when is the new moon?" he asked. She had been silent since leaving her friend's grave, except for the occasional sniffle.  
  
"I think in two days, why?" She took his hand and started walking again. "There's some food in the temple. Are you hungry?"  
  
His stomach answered for him, gurgling loudly in the still morning. Despite her grief, the girl managed a tiny giggle at the sound, and Iolaus smiled in return. "My stomach seems to think so." Three days until the dark of the moon. No time, then, to go looking for Herc. Iolaus would have to see what he could do on his own. _If being a hero were easy, everyone would do it. Thanks, Hecate.  
_  
It was cooler inside the temple, and their footsteps echoed a bit on the tiles. When Iolaus spoke, he was surprised to note that his voice sounded different inside than it had outside. It bounced a little off of the walls of the temple, giving him a rough idea of the size of the room. Filing this new awareness away for future use, he said, "Rina, there's something I have to do, in town. The man who killed Kythis is the same man who took my sight. I need to get close to him, somehow, and take back something he stole from the temple so I can see again." He told her, briefly, of his dream and his quest, simplifying it greatly for her youthful ears.  
  
An apple was pressed into his hands, followed by a wedge of hard cheese, and he sat on the bed once again to eat his breakfast. Rina joined him a moment later, and he hoped her silence meant she was thinking about what he had said, and not that she thought he was insane. "I'll help," she said finally. "Pappos, my grandfather, taught me to help folks when I could, and you need help."  
  
The offer was generous, and more than Iolaus had hoped for. The girl had no idea of the danger she could get into. "I just need a way into the city. After that, you have to forget you ever saw me, okay? You could get hurt, if Orikos finds out you helped me even that much."  
  
A small hand slipped into his, and squeezed his fingers. "You could get hurt, too. You already got hurt." Her fingers touched his bruised face, and he flinched away from the unexpected contact. Rina's voice was scared, but determined. "Orikos killed my friend. I wanna help you get back at him. I know Pinios real good and I can be your eyes. I'm fast, too. I know lots of places to hide. Please, Iolaus?"  
  
He just knew she was looking up at him with puppy eyes. "No, Rina," he said firmly. "It's too dangerous. Lead me back to the city, then forget we ever met." He couldn't let her endanger herself, no matter how much he might need her help. Finishing his apple, Iolaus wiped his hands on his tunic and reached for his staff again. "Okay, Rina?" he prompted, as her silence grew sullen.  
  
After a long moment, she responded, "Okay. I'm not scared, though."  
  
Iolaus smiled at the fierce little girl. "I know you're not. You're very brave."  
  
If he was going to get close enough to Orikos to get the cup, he'd need some kind of disguise. Scratching his chin, Iolaus realized he had a fairly respectable beard started, having not shaved for several days. That alone would not be enough, though. He needed something more.  
  
The chest at the end of the bed held a few possibilities. A sash, wound around his useless eyes, was as good as a mask for disguising the upper half of his face. There were a few changes of clothing, as well, and Kythis had apparently been almost his size. A soft, doeskin tunic and loose linen pants replaced the fragrant rags he was wearing, and a pile of heavy fabric turned out to be a cloak to replace the one Sennet had given him. "This isn't too girly is it, Rina? I mean, its not pink or frilly or anything?" he asked, throwing the warm folds around his shoulders against the slight chill.  
  
Rina giggled. "No, it's blue. Not girly at all." Then he heard her gasp, and patter across the room. She rummaged for a moment on the table, and then pressed a bowl into his hands.  
  
"What is it?" He sniffed, but it just smelled green and a little earthy.  
  
"Henna. Kythis used to draw pretty things on her hands, and they stayed for a real long time. And Lilah uses henna to make her hair red. I thought you could too."  
  
The paste was cold when he dipped a cautious finger into the bowl, but this was just what he needed. "You are a very smart young lady, Rina. Want to help me with this?"  
  
Together, they smeared the fragrant dye through his hair, coating each curl with the stuff. When Rina pronounced him 'done', she led him to the stream and he ducked his head under again, shaking it to rid himself of all of the gloppy paste. "Well? How do I look?" Iolaus asked when he came up, brushing his hair back from his face with one hand.  
  
She walked around him, and finally said, "You looked better with blond hair."  
  
"Thanks," Iolaus said with a grimace. He wound the sash around his eyes, and then pulled the hood up over his head. He wished for a glass, or a still pool, and then remembered neither would do him any good. "Is it enough?" Iolaus scratched his chin thoughtfully. They had worked the henna into his whiskers as well, such as they were, and his face itched a little.  
  
"I think so," Rina said doubtfully. "You look different to me, anyway." She handed him his staff, and he curled his hand thankfully around the smooth wood before groping for her shoulder and standing. "Oh, Pappos' medicine." Her voice was sad again, and she looked back toward the temple. "It helps him not hurt so bad, when the rains come. But I don't know what Kythis gives him."  
  
Hecate's parting words came back to Iolaus, finally making sense. "It's in the yellow bowl, I think."  
  
She looked back at him, twisting under his hand. "How do you know?"  
  
"Remember my dream?" He felt her nod, her soft hair brushing the back of his hand. "That was the last thing Hecate said to me."  
  
"Uh huh." The girl was no fool, and doubt tinged her voice. She pulled away from his hand, and he heard her running back to the temple. Moments later she returned, and took his hand once again. "It was there. Just like you said. Same smelly paste, all in the yellow bowl." She held something close to Iolaus' face that made his eyes water. Eucalyptus and lavender, combined with willow bark and goose grease, made an excellent pain killer for swollen joints, but the smell was potent.  
  
"That's the stuff," Iolaus said, trying to breathe through his mouth. She tucked it away somewhere and the fumes dissipated after a few moments. "One question, though. How are we going to get past the gate guards?"  
  
"I know a secret way in," she said. "Pappos says it's wicked to break the laws and not go through the gate like you're s'posed to, but some of the guards...I feel funny when they look at me."  
  
Things were certainly rotten in the city-state of Pinios. Iolaus squeezed the girl's shoulder comfortingly, remembering some of the looks he had once received, running wild on the streets of Corinth as a boy. He hadn't known, at first, what those leering glances had meant, but he had learned. Not directly, thank the Gods, but from other boys who couldn't run quite as fast or hide as well. "If any of them tries to do more than look, you run, promise? Run as far and as fast as you can, and then go find a guard named Sennet. I think she'll look out for you."  
  
"Okay, I promise," she said doubtfully, obviously not too sure about the idea of a guard as a safe person. They started walking, awkwardly at first as Iolaus got used to trusting the girl's lead, then with more confidence. Every step felt like he was stepping into an abyss, not entirely sure there would be firm ground beneath his foot when he put it down. It was hard not to shuffle, as he had been doing before, and he was certain he was leaving a trail a blind man could follow. With this thought, Iolaus started picking up his feet, stepping forward with greater confidence with each stride.  
  
Rina never faltered. She was sturdy as a hill pony, and as sure footed. From time to time, she'd murmur a warning for him. "Step up." "Root." "Duck. There's a branch." She only missed one of those, a limb low enough for her to walk under, but at just the right height to ruffle Iolaus' hair. He ducked when the staff tapped the branch, no harm done, but the little girl had been mortified. She was still apologizing when they reached the city.  
  
The passage she guided him through had far too many cobwebs for the warrior's comfort. Iolaus didn't mind spiders, per se, but was much more comfortable when they were far away and not leaving sticky webs to brush unexpectedly across his face as he crawled through a fairly narrow passage into enemy territory. Sneezing as yet another of the disgusting things tickled across his face, Iolaus had to admit to himself he had issues with bugs.  
  
Finally, the echoes of their crawling progress changed in tone, and he could hear street sounds. Moments later, he was standing and brushing franticly at his face and hair, hoping desperately he hadn't picked up any passengers. Something scuttled on his hand and he shook it off with a yelp and a dance backwards that set Rina giggling once again. "That was me, not a spider." She took his hand more firmly and pulled him down, plucking something out of his hair. "That was a spider."  
  
"Yeugh!" He shook his head and scratched vigorously. "Do you see any more?"  
  
"No. Just that big black one on your shoulder," she said, but her tone was too full of mischief for him to take her seriously.  
  
"Ha ha." He brushed his hand over his shoulder anyway, hiding the motion by adjusting his hood. You could never be too careful.  
  
Now that he was here, Iolaus had no idea what to do next. He needed information if he was going to confront the wizard, needed to become the spy he had been accused of being. Taverns were usually good sources of information, but one needed money to be allowed to stay more than a few minutes. At present, Iolaus had no money, nor any way of earning some.  
  
Still, that had never stopped him before. He'd been penniless more than once, and slept hungry and cold. He'd survived then, he'd survive now. "Rina," Iolaus said, taking her by both shoulders and kneeling to bring his face level with hers, "I want to thank you for your help. From here on out, it gets too dangerous to let you stay with me. You should go back to your Grandfather, take him his medicine, and forget you met me."  
  
A cold and stony silence met his words. Rina shrugged off his hands and he could feel her glaring at him. "I'm not a baby, Iolaus. I can take care of myself." Abruptly, his staff went flying out of his hand, propelled by an angry blow from an outraged child. "You can't. Stop telling me to go away."  
  
Iolaus was surprised and dismayed to find how off balance he felt without the stick. He was back on the edge of the cliff, a yawning chasm all around him, and no way of knowing which way was safe. Reflexively, his hands went out for balance, but he touched nothing. He stomped down on the panic rising in his chest and stood, taking a stumbling step toward where he had heard his staff clatter to rest. Another sliding step brought him up against a low, hard object; a waste bin judging by the reek. "Rina, please," he said softly. She was right. He couldn't do this without help.  
  
The smooth wood pressed into his hand, and he grabbed at the lifeline, breathing a little heavily. "I'm sorry," Rina whispered beside him. She took his hand and squeezed it, and he felt warm wetness drip onto his knuckles. He reached out and wiped the tears from her eyes. "That was mean," she said, sniffing. "I felt mean, and mad. I'm sorry."  
  
_Poor kid_, thought Iolaus. _She's still hurting from finding her friend like that_. Aloud, he said, "It's okay. And I'm sorry, too. I could use your help, but I don't want you to get hurt." He closed his eyes under the sash and cursed Orikos for putting them in this position. Iolaus hated needing help, but knew he had no choice in the matter. "There's one rule, though, and you have to swear to follow it. If you say you won't, then you go back to your Grandfather right now and no more arguing."  
  
"Okay. What's the rule?" Her voice was small, but the tone was determined.  
  
He smiled at her spirit, wondering briefly if the girl had warrior's blood in her. "The rule is," he said, "if I tell you to run, you run. No questions, no hesitation. Run flat out and hide. Is it a deal?" He put his hand out to shake on it.  
  
There was no hesitation this time. She took his arm and grasped it with her tiny hand, one warrior to another. "Deal." Her arm was thin in his grip, reminding him of her vulnerability as they sealed their agreement with a firm clasp. Iolaus hoped the girl had not just sealed her fate with her word.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
The big man's patience lasted just long enough for Sennet to get him out of the city and away from Orikos' spies. She devoutly hoped none of them had seen the man, because he was a terrible actor. The false smile on his face was strained, and he was more tense than a virgin on her wedding night. His hand on her arm was unshakable, and she gave up after a few surreptitious attempts. Any more strenuous motion would have freed her arm, possibly, but also would have drawn attention, and attention was the last thing Sennet wanted.  
  
They passed an ancient woman as they descended the hill, and she waved merrily to Hercules, cackling like a witch in a tale. He waved back, relaxing minutely, and his smile became more genuine for a moment or two. "You two behave," the crone called, toasting them with a sloshing flask. The big warrior's ears turned pink, and Sennet hid a smile of her own.  
  
"We will, Old Mother," she called over her shoulder. Hercules had not slowed, and now he was pulling her down the road at a trot. "Wait, stop." Sennet wrenched her arm free, finally, and glared at the man. "Enough of this. Follow me." Rubbing the bruises under her tunic, Sennet headed into the trees, angling west from the road, into the hills.  
  
"Where did you get Iolaus' amulet?" Hercules asked, his long strides catching him up to her in moments. "Where is he? Is he all right?"  
  
The last question seemed the most important to the man, so she answered it first. "He was alive when I left him." She pushed through some undergrowth and scanned the ground for tracks of her earlier trip into the forest. Not quite far enough west yet, she thought, though the trees looked familiar. "A little banged up, but still spitting."  
  
Hercules grabbed her arm again, stopping their progress. She really wished he would stop doing that. The man had a grip like a blacksmith, only stronger. "There's more. Something you're not telling me." Perceptive, too. Maybe the stories about his divine relations were true, though Sennet didn't have much faith in the Gods. She went to temple on the feast days, made proper sacrifices to Artemis and Ares before battle, and went a little nuts with the rest of the women during the Bacchanal, but that was the extent of her devotions.  
  
This man was said to be the son of Zeus himself, and so was related to most of the Pantheon, through his father. Right now, though, he seemed very human, and very worried. There was no easy way to say it, and she hoped he didn't take her arm off when he heard the news. "You're right, boy. There's more." She told him the whole tale, as far as she knew it, and watched as the warrior's face turned grim and hard.  
  
Now she believed he was the son of Zeus, the god of storms. Lightning was flashing in his eyes and his voice held echoes of distant thunder. "Blind? And alone? Gods...." He released her arm, then, and looked toward the sky. No, toward Olympus, she thought. Praying, perhaps? His expression was one of anger, rather than devotion, if so. "Take me to him," he said finally, and his voice was cold.  
  
"Which I was, before you decided to haul me around like some kind of rag doll, you stiff-necked pup," she said, setting off once again.  
  
The trail was easy enough to find, once they went far enough into the hills. She found the clearing, and signs of his trail to the stream, but no blind warrior. Walking back up the slope from the stream, she found Hercules standing by the tree where the watch commander had tied Iolaus. The demigod was holding the bloodstained ropes she had cut off of his friend, and looking at the scuffed ground at the base of the tree. "Well," he asked, "where is he?"  
  
Sennet had been in countless battles, winning and losing. She had served with King Fidelis in his hopeless campaign against the Macedonians, in her youth. She had seen men and boys die around her while she fought with both arms bloody to the elbow and a streaming wound in her thigh, which still ached in the winter. She had faced down that basilisk two summers back, with Timos and Mala at her side, and the three had barely escaped to tell the tale. She was looking old age in the face, a warrior with too many battles and years to make rainy weather a time of anything but aching joints and smelly salves. Never, though, had she seen the kind of anger that she saw in this man's eyes. Instinctively, the soldier took a step back, making a warding sign with one shaking hand. "Ares' left nut, boy," she said, shakily. "We'll find him. Your friend was alive when I left, I swear. I sent him toward safety, best I could."  
  
"Where?" He dropped the ropes and covered the distance between them in two strides. Grabbing the straps of her armor, the man lifted Sennet off of her feet and growled into her face. "Where is he?"  
  
Her soldier's instincts took over, and she brought her knee up sharply between the bigger man's legs. He blocked her with a twist of his hips and dropped her. She scrambled to her feet again, coming up in a fighting crouch, and backed away a little. "There's tracks by the stream. I sent him to a temple I know of. There's a healer there who would have taken him in. Now, do you want to fight or find your friend?" She felt like she was facing down a wild boar, with no notion of which way it would charge.  
  
With a final glare, Hercules brushed past her and headed for the stream. It took a few more moments for her nerves to stop jangling and follow, but follow she did. He all ready had a head start, walking along the babbling waterway with long, ground eating strides. Sennet had to jog to catch up, for all that she was nearly as tall as he. They did not speak further, but concentrated on the trail.  
  
The trail diverted from the stream for a short way, and it looked like Iolaus had taken a tumble, but then they were back on track. It was an easy walk. The forest had little in the way of undergrowth, this early in the year, and the light was good. If their errand had not been so dire, it would have been a pleasant hike. As it was, her companion hardly said two words to her the entire way to the temple, and the tension was something she felt she could reach out and touch.  
  
Finally, they reached their destination. "Wait a moment, Hercules," Sennet said, her hand on his shoulder. He shook her off, angrily, but turned to face her. "Kythis is a little shy of strangers. Why don't you let me go in first?"  
  
"Why don't you go back to the city? You people have done enough harm, don't you think?" He slapped his hand on the door and barged in, calling for his friend in a voice that startled the birds in the willow trees to flight.  
  
Sighing, Sennet followed, looking for the disfigured priestess and the warrior in the woman's room behind the temple proper. There was no sign of either, although the bed had been slept in and there was a fresh apple core on the floor. There was a bowl on the writing desk, as well. It had a green residue that reminded Sennet of the days when she still cared enough to color her hair to hide the silver. Henna. Tapping the bowl, she wondered at its significance.  
  
As she pondered, her eye roamed over the rest of the room. Clothes strewn from the trunk, a pile of familiar rags in the corner, and a blond hair on the bed pillow told a comforting tale. But where did he go? And where was Kythis?  
  
The big man had been quiet for a few minutes, she realized abruptly. Worried, she ducked back out into the temple and looked for him, but he wasn't there. The front door was open; she went outside and saw him, kneeling a distance away in a mass of ivy. His head was bent, and Sennet felt her heart drop. "Iolaus?" She double-timed it to Hercules' side, and then bit back a curse.  
  
The body was wrapped in her cloak, the one she had given Iolaus. "No. He wasn't that badly hurt." Unless the blows to his head had done more damage than she thought. Before she could say anything else, Hercules pulled the folds of cloth away from the body. "Gods," she murmured, turning away. Kythis, and dead for about a week, from the looks of things. Someone had wrapped her in the cloak, and Sennet doubted it had been her murderer.  
  
"He was here," Hercules said, covering the woman's face again. "His trail leads back to the city."  
  
Sennet examined the tracks, felt the moist coolness of the exposed dirt, and said, "We're not far behind him. These are fresh. No more than an hour old, if that." A second pair of tracks was partially overlain by the marks of the warrior's bare feet. "There's someone with him. A child, I think."  
  
"He's not alone, then," Hercules murmured. "Good." He stood and joined her, looking at the marks in the dirt. "Let's go."  
  
She matched his stride as he broke into a run. Her knees complained about it with each step, but she ignored them with the ease of long practice. It wasn't far to Pinios, though it was all up hill from this sheltered valley, and she was used to marching. Soon, they found themselves nearing the city walls. The forestry crews kept the tree line well back for security, but they must have been shirking on this side. Underbrush and tall grass had been allowed to grow here unchecked, allowing them to follow the warrior's trail unseen by any sentries.  
  
The trail stopped at the base of the stone wall. There were marks in the dirt, but Sennet couldn't read them this time, and she pushed her helm back to scratch her head. "The tracks end here. It's like they went through the wall, or something."  
  
Hercules examined the marks, then the wall. Picking up a rock, he tapped the stones and listened for a moment. "They did." The big man started feeling the wall, then, and looking more closely.  
  
"Did what?"  
  
"They went through the wall." A quick jerk and a flat stone fell away, revealing a dark tunnel. It was just big enough for a child or a compact man to crawl through, and the tracks bore this out. They had come this way, into the city. Sennet was torn between gladness that the little man was safe, and concern over this breach in city security. "I'll never fit through there," the big man commented, replacing the stone and tapping it securely into place.  
  
Sennet looked up at the wall, then the sun. "I know the part of town this tunnel might come out in. That is, if you want my help."  
  
Hercules stood and looked down at her, standing a little too close for her comfort. She stood her ground, glaring back up at the warrior and not budging an inch. Some of Orikos' new hires had tried to bully the old soldier, thinking her an easy mark because of her gender and her age. None of them had tried it twice. Something of that must have shown in her eyes, because Hercules backed off a step. "Why do you want to help? Are you going to turn him in again when we find him?"  
  
Anger flared in her stomach. "Ares' left nut, boy. What do you take me for?" She touched the green stone that hung around her neck, remembering the courage Iolaus had shown in the cell, after Orikos finished with him. "He's a good lad, and he doesn't deserve what he got. Maybe I feel bad I helped put him in jail and I want to help him out. Maybe I'm tired of seein' that smirking wizard shit on our laws and on our people. And maybe I'm a little crazy, stickin' my neck out for you two young idiots, but I'm going to retire next month anyway, so why not?" She grinned up at the man, then turned and started making her way back to the gate.  
  
"Wait! Wait a second!" he called behind her, but she just kept walking, knowing his long legs would catch up before she got too far. At least she had gotten his attention.

()()()()()()  
  
The streets of Pinios' poor quarter were narrow and crowded, and they smelled terrible. The surface underfoot was dried mud, trash, and waste both human and animal. The smoke from cook fires mixed with the smell of burnt bread and cheap wine, forming a nauseating pall that stuck to the inside of Iolaus' nose and had him breathing through his mouth as much as possible. Unfortunately, this meant he tasted the air, and this was not much better. Whatever appetite he had was gone before he and Rina had taken three steps from the alley.  
  
"I never realized the city smelled so bad," Iolaus said, trying not to gag on the thick air. Someone bumped into his shoulder and muttered angrily, but they walked on.  
  
Rina shrugged. "It's always worse after I go see Kyth...after I get out in the woods for a while. Then I stop noticing it, usually. Step down."  
  
Iolaus followed her lead, the sturdy shoulder under his hand dropping a moment before his questing foot found the step. "Aren't there street cleaners? I thought I saw some when I first got to town." The wealthy part of Pinios, home to the Prancing Pegasus and the House of Law, had also been paved, he remembered. Apparently, the poor of Pinios had to make due with dirt. Iolaus was missing his boots more with every step. His feet felt filthy.  
  
"There are, but not for us. Pappos says that's why so many folks are getting sick, but I think that's silly. Everyone knows it's evil spirits that make you sick, not dirt and smell. But maybe the evil spirits like the dirt and bad smells, and that's why they hang around and cause trouble."  
  
Her childish babble was a comfort to him as they threaded through the crowds. "It's as good an explanation as any, I suppose. Hey!" A figure collided with him, almost hiding the stealthy hand sliding under his cloak. "No pockets to pick. Beat it." He turned a hard face toward the person, who mumbled an apology and ran off.  
  
"Amateur," Rina said, scornfully.  
  
A little shocked, Iolaus stopped walking and pulled the girl to a stop as well. "Amateur? What do you know about picking pockets, Rina?"  
  
The shoulder squirmed under his hand, and he had the impression that the girl was looking anywhere except at him. "I, well, I steal stuff. Sometimes." Her voice was small, and a little defensive. "I'm too little to work, and Pappos can't do anything any more."  
  
"Move along! You're blocking the road!" The creak of a harness and a cracked whip punctuated the bellow. Iolaus stumbled out of the street, pulling Rina after him, and felt along the wall until he came to a corner. The lack of traffic and the dank odor of rotting vegetables and old beer suggested an alley, probably behind a tavern or inn. The acrid odor of urine assailed him as they moved into the comparative quiet of the side street, and he moved them to the other side of the passage, where the air was slightly fresher.  
  
Kneeling, he reached out and caught Rina's arm, then let his hand follow it down to her smaller ones, shaking them for emphasis. "Little one, you could lose these if you get caught. You must know that."  
  
The girl jerked her hands free. "I know. I won't get caught. I'm not dumb." She moved away, deeper into the alley. "You don't know what it's like."  
  
In fact, Iolaus knew only too well. His memories of the years he spent on the streets of Thebes were still vivid and a little painful. He'd stolen, picked pockets, bullied and connived, gambled and fought to stay alive every day of his childhood. From the day he'd run away from home to the day he'd entered the Academy at fifteen, he had lived the life this little girl was living. From what he had already experienced of Pinios, he doubted she'd make her teens with either her hands or her maidenhead intact. She'd lose one or the other, or possibly both.  
  
"Rina, I promise I'll do everything I can to help you and your grandfather. You won't grow up on the streets if I can help it." Iolaus felt out with his staff and took a careful step forward, following the sound of the girl's breathing. He had no idea what he could do to help her, but he was going to do his best, by the Gods.  
  
Three days. Well, two and a half, really, and the window would be closed for a month. If it ever reopened - Hecate had not said he had more than this one chance. It was possible that, if he failed to obtain the cup before the new moon, he'd be stuck like this forever. Even if he was, though, he'd still find a way to help the girl, if he could. "We need to get that medicine to your grandfather, then I need to start gathering information. I need to know when Orikos is away from the guards, when I can get him alone. All I need is a few minutes and I'll get the cup from him."  
  
Rina snorted. "From what I hear, he's never alone. He even sleeps with a guard, according to Lilah." She took his hand again and started walking, he assumed, toward home.  
  
"Who's Lilah?" Iolaus asked, letting the tip of his staff brush the wall as they walked. He was surprised at the amount of information translated through the wood in his hand. The wall was rough, brick most likely, and their voices echoed slightly from the stones. A baby was crying, somewhere behind them, then quieted as it was given suck. Two streets over, a dog barked viciously, then yelped as though someone had kicked it into silence.  
  
They detoured around a smoky fire surrounded by grumbling old men, and went down another alley. "She's a whore," Rina said. "But she's real nice. Duck a little. The door is pretty low." There was a creak, and then they were inside a small room. It smelled clean, and vaguely of the herbs in Kythis' salve. "I'm home, Pappos."  
  
An old voice answered. "I can see that, girl. Who's that with you? Get out of my house and leave my grand-daughter alone, you ruffian!" The rope mattress creaked as the aged man tried to sit up, before he collapsed with a groan and a rattling cough.  
  
Iolaus felt his way forward and found the cold hearth. The kindling was close by, as was a small pile of wood. "Easy, old man. I'm a friend. My name is...Aelus." He laid a fire in the tiny hearth and found the flint and steel wrapped in a leather pouch on the stones. Striking deftly, he felt the warmth of the kindling catch, and lay on tinder until he had a respectable blaze going, chasing the chill from the room.  
  
"Aelus, eh? Never heard of you. A beggar by the looks of you." There was the rustle of fabric, and then the old man sighed as the pungent smell of the salve filled the air. "You're a good child, Rina. It feels better all ready." He coughed again, thick and rasping. The winter just passed had not been kind to the man, from the sound of it. Even now, Iolaus could feel the flicker of cold drafts coming through the thin walls. He plugged the ones he could find, tearing strips from the bottom of his cloak and pushing them in with a stick. The old man muttered a thank you, and seemed to forget about his presence after that.  
  
Sitting on the hearthstones, Iolaus fed the fire and warmed his hands. The tiny blaze crackled and snapped, and the trickle of smoke that didn't escape through the hole in the roof tickled Iolaus' nostrils. Rina finished her ministrations and pushed a pot over the fire. It smelled like barley water and cabbage, and it bubbled thinly as it heated; more water than barley, he thought. She dished up a bowl and gave it to her grandfather, but didn't take any for herself.  
  
"You have to eat, Rina," the old man said.  
  
She moved the pot off of the flames and pulled Iolaus to his feet. "I ate breakfast with Kythis, Pappos. I'm not hungry, really." She left his side and kissed her grandfather. "I'll be back soon, I promise."  
  
"Be careful, child. And, Aelus, you take care of my little girl. Don't bring her to harm." The old man settled back in the bed and was snoring before Iolaus could reassure him.  
  
_But what harm can a blind man do? Hmm? None_.Iolaus shuddered at the memory, and then pushed it away. Orikos would find out what harm a blind man could do, and soon.  
  
Back on the street, the crowd had thinned a bit as people went to their afternoon meals. "Find us a place to sit for a while, Rina. I need to think." To get the cup, he first had to know where it was. He had a fair idea it would be one of two places. Either it would be on the wizard's person, or in his rooms. Chances were he carried it with him, but he might also have it locked away somewhere for safety. Getting into the wizard's rooms was impossible, so he would have to get Orikos to come out, with the cup. Somehow.  
  
Or, get someone on the inside to sneak him in. "You said Lilah was a prostitute?"  
  
"I said she was a whore. Is that the same thing?"  
  
Iolaus grimaced. "Yes. Does she ever, um, work at the palace?"  
  
"Sometimes," she replied with a shrug. "Why?"  
  
"I think I need to meet her." He stood and reached down, pulling Rina to her feet.  
  
They wound through the streets again, dodging fellow travelers and road hazards of the squishy kind. The air became slightly sweeter after a while, and there were hints of incense and perfume on the breeze. Soft voices called to him from corners, from windows above, and doorways, inviting him to take his ease with them, if he had coin.  
  
Ignoring temptation, Iolaus had to smile at the persistence of some of the offers. One young woman followed them for a ways, until the warrior informed her that he didn't have two dinars to rub together. She left him alone after that, telling the other girls on the street not to waste their time. Offers were fewer thereafter, and Iolaus was just as glad. Some of Rina's innocence should remain intact, and some of the offers had been more than lewd.  
  
"Step down. She lives down this street." Angry voices, male and female, came from the doorway Rina led him to. Something crashed inside, and a woman screamed. Alarmed, Iolaus pounded on the door, then shoved it open.  
  
"Stay out here, Rina. Remember your promise. If I say run, you run, okay?" He waited for her reluctant assent, and then followed the noises inside. The woman was pleading, now, and the man was just ahead. "Hey, buddy. Sounds like the lady wants you to back off. So back off."  
  
"Turn around and leave. This is none of your concern." The man's voice was deep and harsh, and it was laden with menace. "What are you going to do anyway, blind fool?" He slapped the woman again, and there was a sobbing thud as she fell to the floor.  
  
Enraged, Iolaus brought the end of his staff down sharply on the floor, the crack loud enough to echo off of the walls. "Enough." He caught up the staff in both hands and dropped into a fighting crouch, balancing on the balls of his bare feet and listening intently for movement.  
  
The other man chuckled and said, "All right, runt. If you want a beating so badly, I'll give you one." Then there was a rush of feet and hurried breath as the man attacked.  
  
The moment before the man made contact, Iolaus stepped aside. Angling the staff down, Iolaus tripped the man as he careened past, sending him crashing into a wall. It had been easy to hear his movements, and his instincts for battle were guiding him as well as the little girl waiting outside had done that morning. Pivoting toward the man's curses, Iolaus grinned and waited for the next charge.  
  
It was not long in coming. Blowing and snorting like a boar, the man pressed his attack, landing one weak blow before Iolaus rapped him soundly in the face and then swept his feet out form under him. Resting the end of the staff on the man's stomach, Iolaus leaned on it with most of his weight and smiled toward the gasping foe. "It's not nice to hit ladies, friend. I think you should think twice before you try it again, don't you?" He leaned a little harder, adding a kick to the man's ribs. "Well?"  
  
The man gasped and tried to wriggle free, but he was pinned. "Okay, okay. Just let me up, damn you. You broke my ruttin' nose."  
  
Accepting the apology, however surly the delivery, Iolaus eased back and let the man scramble to his feet. He tensed for another attack, but it didn't come, and he heard the man kicking furniture out of his way as he walked to the door. "This isn't over, runt. The bitch owes me, and she's not makin' as much for me as she used to. Dyin' her hair don't cut it no more. The marks want someone younger, softer. Old whores like her ain't worth the trouble to gut 'em." He spat and then slammed out the door.  
  
A moment later, the door opened again and Rina came in. "I hid," she said. "What did you do to Mikolos? His nose was all bloody and he looked mad. Well, madder. Oh, Lilah! Are you okay?" She pattered past him and chairs clattered upright as she helped the woman sit.  
  
"Fine, child, I'm fine. Thank you for what you did, but I almost wish you hadn't heard me. Mikolos will kill you, sure as leaves turn in fall. Oh, Gods!" she exclaimed, interrupting herself.  
  
Iolaus found a chair and perched on the edge. "What?" he asked, listening again for danger. He heard nothing, though, apart from the chatter of the street traffic outside. In answer, he felt her touch the sash around his eyes. The contact startled him, soft as it had been, and he flinched away.  
  
"I'm sorry," Lilah said softly. "I didn't mean to scare you." Iolaus heard her stand and then heard clanking and the sound of liquid pouring. She pressed a warm mug into his hands a moment later. "Let it steep for a few minutes."  
  
Sniffing the steaming mug, Iolaus identified fennel, comfrey, and something that smelled like dandelions. It smelled a lot like the bitter tisane that Herc always brewed up when either of them was recovering from taking a few too many hits. "Thanks for the tea," he said, taking a sip and trying not to make a face at the taste. "Lilah, I didn't come here just because I heard the fight. I need your help."  
  
He told his tale in brief, leaving out the gory bits because of Rina's presence. "I need to know whatever you know about Orikos. I need to get close to him, alone if possible."  
  
Lilah's voice was shaken when she answered. "You're mad." She stood and walked away, her footsteps rapid and as erratic as her panicked breaths. "You'll get me killed. You've killed me just coming here. Aphrodite protect me..."  
  
"Easy, calm down," Iolaus stood and walked toward the woman, but bumped into the table and nearly fell. Cursing softly, he felt his way around it and found her by following her voice as she whispered a prayer to the Goddess of Love. His out flung hand found her arm, but she pulled away with a jerk.  
  
"I can't help you. Orikos is not a man to be crossed. I may be nothing but an old whore, but I'm alive and mean to stay alive."  
  
"If you don't help, I could be stuck this way," Iolaus said. "Please. He'll never know we spoke. He can't be that powerful."  
  
There were tears in Lilah's voice when she answered. "Better blind than dead. I've seen what that thrice damned cup can do. He poured water in it once, and poured out an acid that nearly ate through his worktable. He makes poisons with it you'll never taste, potions to make you forget yourself, or betray your dearly beloved. It never leaves his side, and he is never alone. Your quest is a doomed one, Aelus. Go find some nice young thing to take care of you and thank the Gods you're still alive."

()()()()()()()  
  
"This city is just not that big," Hercules muttered. "Where is he?" He rested his hands on his hips and glared at the decrepit passers by as though they were personally hiding his friend from him.  
  
Sennet leaned against a wall and pushed her helm back from her forehead. Her presence had opened a few doors for them in their search, but had closed others. Now the citizens of Pinios' poorer quarter were hurrying past them, glancing furtively at her uniform with faces creased by whatever secret guilt they were carrying. The old soldier just smiled genially and nodded them past. "I need to change," she said. "I was coming off duty when we met up, and this get-up is scaring folks. Sad, that. People used to trust the guard."  
  
Hercules shook his head. "There's no time for that. We have to find Iolaus." He looked like he was ready to start grabbing random people and shaking them until they divulged the information he needed. After all, someone must know. It was just a matter of shaking the right person.  
  
"It's getting late," Sennet said. "Where would your friend go to ground, if he had a choice, city like this?"  
  
The big warrior thought a moment, and then said, "Well, if he hasn't been arrested again," he threw a glare at Sennet, who winced, "he's probably found a girl to take him in and feed him. Women seem to like to take care of Iolaus. He's...fluffy." Hercules looked a little exasperated, and a little fond, smiling at a memory.  
  
Memories of the blond man flitted through Sennet's head, too. "Yes, he is that." She regretted abandoning the little fellow, but at the time it had been safer for the both of them. If she hadn't returned to the others, waiting for her on the road, they would have known Iolaus was still alive and would have hunted him down again. Killed him, probably, or hurt him badly at the least. _So why didn't you go after him sooner, old girl? Left him alone all night. Do you want to work for a man who allows innocent men to be hurt on the say so of a mad wizard? Time to hang up your helm and retire. Move out to that farm you've had your eye on and raise chickens.  
_  
The shadows were lengthening, and the air was turning colder. "He can take care of himself, usually," Hercules said softly. "He's never had to deal with something like this, though. It's frightening, how dependent it makes you. Being blinded, I mean. It's almost like you're afraid to take a step, to move, because you have no idea where your feet are going. It's like you're standing at the top of a cliff, and there's no way to tell which way is safe and which way leads to a sudden drop."  
  
They started walking again, peering into alleys and windows as they went for a glimpse of blond hair. "Sounds like you have some experience," Sennet commented.  
  
"Yeah. I lost my sight temporarily a year or so ago. It only lasted a week, a little longer, but I had someone I knew with me, helping me. After the fighting was done, he stayed with me until I could see again. Iolaus is alone." His steps quickened, and Sennet's knees were aching as she tried to keep up.  
  
"Hey." She put out her arm and tried to pull him to a stop, but it was like trying to stop a bull with a lasso of twine. "Hey!"  
  
"What?" He stopped and turned, a look of extreme annoyance on his handsome face. People passing stared at the pair as they faced off, but hurried past. If a guard wanted to go up against a big guy who glared like that, who were they to interfere?  
  
"I need to go check in and change. It'll look suspicious if I don't. Can we meet up later?" She pulled off her helm and ruffled her matted hair. "I need to get out of this damned armor."  
  
Hercules made a gesture that might have gotten him arrested if she'd been on duty. "Do what you like. I'm not giving up."  
  
"Neither am I." She stepped close, poking him in the chest. "You can just climb off of that high horse, friend. I'm worried about him too." They stood almost level with each other, and his blue eyes snapped with cold fire. She had a feeling that more than one opponent had backed down under the strength of the demigod's glare, but she held her ground, matching blue fire with the gray steel of her own gaze. "I'm helping, and you can't stop me, pup."  
  
Hercules stood his ground a moment more, then looked away. "Zorba's," he said. "Meet me there when you're free."  
  
The soldier nodded. "Right. See you soon." She turned on her heel, a precise about face, and walked away. Once around the corner, out of eyeshot, she leaned against a low wall and tried to settle the shakes in her gut. The warrior, the demigod if the stories were true, had been a formidable companion for the day. It had been like trying to hold a conversation with a force of nature. An angry force of nature, she amended mentally.  
  
When her hands finally stopped shaking, Sennet turned her steps toward the palace. It was a long walk across the city, but she crossed it quickly and was sitting on her bunk before she knew it. She'd made that walk while half asleep, while drunk, and once while half dead from a wound she'd received while on patrol. Her feet knew the route, knew the contours of the stones that made up the streets of her city, the sound of water trickling under the bridge that connected the old part of town with the newer parts.  
  
She'd grown up in Pinios, the daughter of a soldier and a seamstress from Athens. When her father had been a guard here, Sennet had been the pet of the regiment. She had been their mascot and good luck charm, allowed free run of the barracks and training grounds. No wonder, then, that she had chosen this profession. She'd learned the sword almost from the time she could walk, absorbed fighting and the skills to stay alive as she learned language and ciphering.  
  
More than that, she'd seen with what deep regard the soldiers held their jobs. Each of them cared for Pinios and for her people, like shepherds looking after their flock. No furtive glances from the citizens in those days; it had been an honor to serve, and the guard were respected and loved by the honest people of the city. The less than honest, well, they had at least respected the guard.  
  
Then, the wizard came, and things changed for the worse. Sennet pulled her thoughts back to the present and started stripping off her armor. New men hired on, little better than mercenaries, and loyal to Orikos over Pinios. She hung the armor on her rack and dug a flask of mink oil out of her footlocker. Rubbing the oil into the leather, she let the routine task blank her thoughts, but the sound of riotous laughter in the guardroom called her back. "Ares' left nut," she muttered. "Sounds like they're drinking again."  
  
Back in the day, drinking on duty would get you cashiered. The wine in the guardroom had been well watered, and you didn't touch it until you stood down your watch. Now, the watch commander was bringing in ouzo, and he turned a blind eye to the goings on. He was one of Orikos' men, and so long as you weren't staggering you got sent out to your duty station. Only exception was for the ones who pulled duty with Aristarkus, for obvious reasons. The First Citizen still ruled in Pinios, at least on paper, and if he smelled wine on your breath, you were out.  
  
Unfortunately, he rarely came down to the guardroom any more.  
  
Sennet ran a whetstone over the length of her blade, honing it as she had done every day of her life since she first managed to pick up the weapon. It had been her father's before he died, and he'd turned over the sharpening of it to her when she'd been five. Mother had protested, fearing her child would cut herself, but she never had. Wiping it with a scrap of oily chamois, she sheathed the blade and locked it in her footlocker, pulling out a long dagger and fastening it to her belt in its place.  
  
She tugged on a warm tunic and her second-best cloak and then turned to go. It was full dark outside the window, and Hercules would probably be at Zorba's, if he hadn't changed his mind. Her hurried steps had carried her almost out the door when a hated voice called her back. Orikos.  
  
"Guard Sennet. A moment of your time." He stood in the corridor, firelight giving color to his pale face, flanked by Nikos and the watch commander.  
  
Her heart pounded, but she kept her features a careful blank. "Yes, sir?"  
  
The wizard walked forward, his rich robes swirling in the dust of the hall, a pleasant smile on his bland face. "I understand you helped dispose of our spy this morning. Well done."  
  
The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and she wanted to do nothing so much as run, run far away and never look back. As many battles as the old soldier had fought, there was something evil in this man that made her skin crawl, that frightened her beyond reason. "Thank you, sir." She repressed a shudder as he took her hand. His skin was cool and soft, almost babyish. There were no calluses, no scars, only ink stains.  
  
"I will remember you, Guard Sennet. Such devotion to duty must not go unrewarded." He stroked his thumb across her knuckles, still with that pleasant smile that never got within shouting distance of his eyes. "Be assured, I will remember."  
  
"Just doing my job, sir," she said. The muscles in her arm were tense from wanting to take her hand back, yank it away. Finally, with a little pat, he released her.  
  
"Take a free day tomorrow, Guard Sennet. And take this, for a job well done." He reached into the folds of his rich, blue robes and pulled out a small pouch. It clinked as he handed it to her, and it was heavy in her palm.  
  
"Thank you, sir." She tucked the pouch away and resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her cloak. It tingled a little, and felt clammy where his skin had pressed.  
  
The wizard contemplated her for a moment longer, then turned and walked away. The watch commander followed, but Nikos remained behind, smiling unpleasantly at Sennet until the other two were out of sight.  
  
"What the piss do you want, boy?" Sennet said. She folded her arms and wished he'd follow after his master. This one she did not have to be polite to, despite his allegiance. She out-ranked him, and he knew who was the better fighter.  
  
The corridor was very quiet, the sound of the drunken guards a distant echo through the stones. The torches hissed in their brackets, sending flickering light into the shadows, but chasing none of the chill away. Nikos stepped close, trying to force Sennet to take a step back, but he'd tried that trick before and it hadn't worked. Didn't work now. "I want that amulet, Guard Sennet." He turned the title into a sneer, and his grubby fingers tried to latch on to the green pendent at her neck. Iolaus' pendent, taken from the warrior along with his clothes and his freedom.  
  
Knocking his hand aside, Sennet said, "I won it fair and square, boy. It's mine. Care to dispute that?" Her hand strayed to the handle of her knife, and she kept her eyes locked on his. They had divvied up the hunter's belongings, after the trial. Sennet had come into the guardroom just as the clothes and pack were dumped on the table. The green amulet winked at her amid the folds of the man's purple, patchwork vest, and she snatched both up together. Nikos had demanded it of her, but she'd refused. She wouldn't back down now, either.  
  
Fortunately, Nikos was a coward. He saw her hand on her knife and eased off. "I'll have it off you one day, bitch. It should be mine. Enjoy your favor with Orikos while it lasts." With a rude gesture, he turned and walked away.  
  
"Damn," Sennet muttered, watching his retreat with disappointment, "I wanted to gut the weasel."  
  
Chapter 8  
  
The tavern was warm, and Lilah had given him a few dinars, so he wasn't being chased away from the fireside quite yet. He'd bought supper for himself and his young guide, bread and cheese and watered wine. The tavern keeper knew Rina, and liked her, apparently. When she introduced her friend, it was not a blind beggar he saw, but a man down on his luck and needing a warm place to rest. When she went to tend her grandfather, the gruff voice of the master of the house bade him welcome to stay for a bit, until she returned. Grateful for the kindness, Iolaus settled close to the hearth and tried not to feel so very alone.  
  
The sounds of music and laughter surrounded him. Iolaus could picture the scene; people dancing, happy in the moment despite their poverty and the threat that hung over the city. Normally, the hunter would have been one of the dancers. He had been a great dancer, or at least an enthusiastic one. Now, though... Iolaus leaned his cheek against the smooth wood of his staff and sighed softly.  
  
"Iolaus?" Rina's little voice piped up, "Are you all right? You look sad." The girl must have snuck away from her grandfather again and sought him out. She worked her hand into his and then sat next to him on the hard bench.  
  
He turned his face toward her and tried for a stern look. "Rina, isn't it past your bedtime? Your grandfather will be worried about you." The girl was only ten, after all, and a tavern wasn't the most savory of places for a child.  
  
Rina held his hand a little tighter and sighed. "Pappos is sleeping. I was worried about you. Now, why do you look sad? Did Mikolos try to hurt you again?"  
  
Iolaus shook his head, grinning a little at the thought of the fight earlier. "No, I haven't run into Mikolos again, and he didn't hurt me the first time. Last I heard, he was running to a healer and complaining that I'd spoiled his looks. Was he that handsome to start with?"  
  
The little girl giggled and he felt her shake her head, her soft curls brushing his arm. "No. He thinks he's Apollo, but he reminds me of a big ugly frog."  
  
"Ick," Iolaus commented.  
  
"So," Rina continued, "Why did you look so sad?"  
  
The child was persistent. Giving in, Iolaus said, "I miss dancing. I can hear everyone having a great time, and my feet love this music, but I can't join in." It was the closest he had come to truly feeling sorry for himself since that first dark night in the forest. "I'm ok, really. Just got a little melancholy."  
  
Above and to the right, an aged voice said, "Who says you can't dance, handsome?" A cool, wrinkled hand slipped into his. "My name is Oma, and I have a slight flaw in my character. Hello, little Rina. Are you keeping this delicious young man out of trouble?"  
  
"I'm trying, Oma." Iolaus heard the little girl hug the woman, and he relaxed slightly. "It sure is hard, though."  
  
"Hey!" he protested, prompting a chuckle and a giggle from the maiden and the crone. "It's not like I go looking for trouble, you know. It just seems to find me."  
  
"Well then, my trouble-attracting friend, what say we do something harmless and show these rubes how to dance."  
  
"Um...ok." Iolaus smiled in bemusement as his staff was taken from his hand and he was pulled to his feet and led onto the dance floor. "You'll have to lead, though." He wasn't too sure how this was going to work, but the music carried them both.  
  
The old woman was a surprisingly good dancer, and she led him through the steps and around the room never once letting him bump into anyone or anything. Soon, Iolaus was dancing with most of his usual abandon, his feet surer than he would have thought, and enjoying himself very much indeed. He forgot about Orikos for a while, and his own promise to Hecate, and even about the pall over his eyes. He was just dancing, and having a great time.  
  
His partner pled fatigue after a few songs and more than a few turns around the floor. She led Iolaus back to his bench by the hearth, bidding him farewell with a kiss that had the other patrons clapping and hooting. Rina was waiting for him and she handed him his staff. Then, she hugged him around the neck, surprising him a little. "Much better," she announced, very seriously, and he had to smile.  
  
"I'm glad you approve, milady," he said. "I think we should get you back home, though. It's late and your Pappos will worry if he wakes up and finds you gone. May I escort you?"  
  
Rina giggled and took his hand. "Thank you, kind sir. You may." She tried to sound grown up, but spoiled the effect by giggling again.  
  
Iolaus ruffled her hair, and then let his hand slide to her shoulder. Letting the girl guide him, they wound their way out of the tavern and into the cool night. "Are the watch fires lit?" Iolaus asked, hoping the girl had light enough to see. Her soft hair brushed the back of his hand and he felt her nodding. The pair started down the narrow, rutted street toward the hovel the girl called home.  
  
They had not gone very far when an angry voice hissed out of the darkness. "Well, if it isn't the blind man, and his little bitch guide. Run home, girl, or we'll beat you too." It was Mikolos, his voice sounding a little nasally and his temper more than a little nasty. It also sounded like he had company. Two, no three men were with him, and trying to stay quiet.  
  
"Run home, Rina. I'll be fine," Iolaus took his stout staff in both hands and turned to face his foe. Rina, however, didn't move. "Rina, go home. Now!" He heard the girl sob once, then take off at a run. Good, he thought, at least she's out of danger. "So, how's the nose, Mikolos?" Iolaus asked, his voice full of concern. "It doesn't sound too good. Did the healer set it for you? I bet you have a nasty shiner now, too." He heard the other men moving around him, encircling him, but kept his face towards Mikolos.  
  
Footsteps, and a rush of air, and Iolaus turned just before the larger man would have made contact. Mikolos flew past him, aided by a kick in the pants, and plowed into one of his bullyboys instead. A growl on one side and a curse from the other aimed his staff for him, and Iolaus grinned as he made contact. After that, it got chaotic.  
  
Listening intently, Iolaus managed to avoid a club, which whistled past his ear and took out one of the nameless bullies. His staff was in constant motion, tripping foes, blocking blows, and generally making the fight miserable for Mikolos and company. In the end, the four were lying on the ground and groaning in pain. Iolaus picked his way through the bodies and tapped over to the nearest building. "Maybe you boys should take on someone a little less challenging. There's a man a couple of streets over who has no legs; you might be able to take him. I hear he's pretty good with a sword, though. Old soldiers usually are."  
  
His only answer was more groaning. Grinning a feral grin, Iolaus let one hand brush the wall while he tapped forward with the staff. The fight had left him thrumming with energy, and a little more confident. Beating one bully without the use of your eyes was one thing. Beating four was something else again.  
  
The wall was rough under his brushing hand, the stone cool and a little damp. Iolaus followed it until it opened into a large, open area. The alley. He was about to pass along, feeling for the next building, when he heard scuffling and a muffled sniff. "Rina?" he called gently. "You can come out now. It's safe."  
  
Light footsteps approached, and a tiny voice said, "How did you know I was there?"  
  
"I heard you, kid. You were supposed to run home," he chided gently, reaching and finding her head, and then her shoulder.  
  
"I was worried about you. There were four of them, and they were really big, and you can't see, and I was scared, and..." the thin shoulder under his hand was shaking.  
  
"Hey, now." Iolaus kneeled and gathered the little girl into his arms. "I'm okay. It's over. They won't be bothering me again, I don't think..."  
  
"That's what you said before!" she interrupted tearfully.  
  
"...and if they do, I'll cream 'em again. Truly." Iolaus carefully felt the girl's face and wiped away her tears. "Nothing to be scared of. Just a bunch of bullies looking for an easy target."  
  
Rina sniffed. "An' you're not an easy target, right?" She didn't sound too sure, but the tears were slowing.  
  
"Right. Now, let's get you home. Before they wake up and start bawling." A tiny giggle was his reward, and the two continued on together.  
  
'Pappos' was still snoring softly when they reached Rina's home. "Sleep tight, kid. Thanks for all your help today." Iolaus oofed in surprise as two strong little arms wrapped themselves around his waist. He awkwardly returned the hug, and then waited until he heard her latch the splintery wooden door.  
  
"Now what?" he said softly. He didn't relish the idea of sleeping in a doorway, and he knew Rina and her Pappos had neither the room nor the resources to put him up. His money pouch was empty, as was his growling stomach, and there were few prospects of filling either.  
  
Mikolos, he thought suddenly. If the pimp and his thugs were still groaning on the ground, he might pick a pocket or two in good conscience. Not something he'd normally do, but these were fairly desperate times. He'd not eaten more than a few bites of bread and cheese since breakfast, and for a man of Iolaus' appetite this was well nigh unbearable.  
  
Unfortunately, when he found his way back to what he was fairly certain was the scene of battle, all four men were long gone. "Rats." His stomach grumbled loudly. "That's enough out of you, too. I'll feed you tomorrow. Somehow."  
  
A door opened and shut. Iolaus tensed, bringing up his staff.  
  
"Easy, friend. We're not going to hurt you."  
  
She'd said those words to him before, once, back in that damned cell. Sennet, but she'd said 'we.' She wasn't alone, and she was still a guard, after all. Iolaus didn't back down from his fighting stance, listening hard with his head cocked for any clues on the other person. "Hello, Sennet," he said warily. "Who's that with you?" The wind shifted, and he caught a whiff of lavender overlaying another, more familiar scent. His mind worked, but he couldn't place it.

()()()()()()()()  
  
The stocky, barefoot figure before them spun into a fighter's stance, head cocked and listening intently. He clenched a battered length of sapling in two white-knuckled hands and his face was grim under the half-shroud. Hercules hadn't wanted to believe it when Sennet told him Iolaus was blind, but the grimy sash across his friend's eyes confirmed it, and the demigod's heart sank into his boots.  
  
"Easy, friend. We're not going to hurt you." Sennet stepped forward, but stilled when Hercules waved her back.  
  
"Hello, Sennet," Iolaus said, his voice wary and untrusting. "Who's that with you?"  
  
Then the grief that had stilled Hercules' tongue momentarily finally allowed him speech. "It's me, Iolaus." He strode across the distance separating them and pulled the stunned man into a hug, wrapping his friend in his arms as though he could block out the entire world, leaving just Hercules and Iolaus, inseparable and invincible. Resting his cheek in a red-blond tousle of hair, Hercules murmured, "Gods, I was worried." Iolaus' hair smelled like fresh hay from the henna, and his breath was warm against Hercules' skin. He felt the smaller man nod and grab on to his shirt, tremors in his hands, his arms betraying the stress he had been under.  
  
They stood like that for a long moment before Iolaus pulled away, a huge grin plastered across his face. "What's so funny?"  
  
Iolaus shook his head, still grinning. His hands, never still, were patting Hercules with a seeking pressure, traveling lightly over gauntlets, leather, and then coming to rest on the demigod's shoulders. "Nothing, Herc. Just glad you're here." His voice was shaky, pitched a little higher than usual, and Hercules realized what he was doing with all the touching. Iolaus couldn't see his friend, so he was reassuring himself by touching the things he remembered. The gauntlets, the soft leather of his shirt, the feel of his arms. All these were as familiar to Iolaus as the bindings of his sword or the whorls of the serpent necklace that now hung from Sennet's neck. The hands on his shoulders tightened to fists, and Iolaus took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.  
  
Gods, what he'd been through. Hercules wanted to hit something, hard, and make them feel the pain and fear that his friend had felt. Iolaus was a brave man, a hero, and he was shaking. Hercules brought up a hand and covered his friend's. Pitching his voice low, he said, "You're not alone, now. We'll fix this."  
  
The hunter licked his split lip and nodded, drawing in a deep breath, reaching for and finding a measure of control. His voice was almost steady when he said, "I guess 'Dite is going to have to get someone else to judge that beauty contest, huh?"  
  
"No way, buddy. She's been bugging me from Delphi to here about getting us both to her festival in time. No way am I going to let you disappoint my sister. Got it?"  
  
From somewhere, Iolaus mustered another smile, and nodded. "Got it." He ducked his head and Hercules felt him relax a little. After a moment he added, "Oh, sorry," and released the clutch he had held on Hercules' shirt. He left his hand on the shoulder, though, tracing tiny circles with his restless fingers. Hercules hadn't even noticed, and said as much.  
  
Picking up the staff Iolaus had dropped, Hercules wrapped the hunter's hand around it. "Are you okay?" he asked. He guided the hand not holding the staff to his elbow and they walked toward the tavern together.  
  
"I'm pretty damn far from okay, actually," Iolaus said, his voice still a little shaky. His mouth twitched into a wry grin as he turned his face toward Hercules. "I'm getting better though. Come on, Herc. Feed me and I'll tell you what's going on. You too, Sennet."  
  
Anger surged again and Hercules stopped, looking down at his friend in bewilderment. "Are you crazy?" The soldier had abandoned Iolaus to die in the woods, had stood by while he'd been beaten and blinded and done nothing. Granted she'd been helpful today, and had seemed sincere in her concern for Iolaus, but she was still a guard, and her loyalties were questionable.  
  
"She saved my life, Herc," Iolaus said. "Twice. I'd be dead now if not for her. She stopped this one guy from throttling me to death and she freed me in the forest, told me where to go to get help. They'll kill her if they find out about that."  
  
"I didn't know...." Hercules looked over at the woman, who was looking a little embarrassed, shuffling her feet and not meeting his eyes. Regretting the way he had been treating the soldier, Hercules waved her toward them. "I'm sorry, Sennet. I was just..."  
  
"...worried. Yeah, I know. Me too. Good to see you, boy," she said, ruffling Iolaus' hair gently. "Let's get inside before a patrol comes by." She led the way into the tavern, ducking a little under the broken plate that hung over the door.  
  
Inside, it was dim and a little smoky from the fireplace. Rough-hewn posts held up the thatch roof, and sturdy tables staked their claims across the dirt floor. A low bar made of rough planks and empty barrels lined one wall, and stairs behind it led to a second level, presumably with rooms to let. Hercules' hoped so, at any rate. Under his returning good cheer and relief, Iolaus looked exhausted.  
  
The patrons of the tavern were a rough looking group of serious drinkers, older men mostly, who barely looked up from their mugs as the trio walked into the room. There was an empty table by the hearth and Hercules headed for it, Iolaus' hand firmly attached to his elbow, and Sennet trailing after. "Wait here. I'll see about food and some wine."  
  
The soldier fumbled with something at her belt and handed a rich looking pouch over to the warrior. It was heavy with coin, and he looked questioningly at her. "Don't ask," she said. "Just use it for him, and for you. There's enough there to last a while."  
  
"Enough what?" Iolaus' head was cocked, listening, and then he nodded to himself as he heard the faint clink of dinar and talents knocking together as Hercules looked in the bag. "Sounds like a lot of money. Where'd it come from?" He moved toward the fire and warmed his hands, then sat down on the raised hearth with the fire to his back.  
  
"Orikos," she muttered, clearly uncomfortable. "A reward for gutting you, pup."  
  
Turning so his front could warm up too, Iolaus said, "Pup is really not that much better than boy, y'know." He groped for a chair and sat down, propping his feet up on the hearthstones with a happy sigh. "I miss my boots. I really, really miss my boots."  
  
The man was irrepressible. Hercules smiled fondly at his friend, animated and happy despite everything, and knew they'd be fine. No matter what happened, they'd be fine. He tucked the money pouch away and went to order dinner.  
  
When he returned, Sennet was unwinding the strips of cloth around Iolaus' wrists. A small pot of salve was sitting on the table, next to a couple of fresh bandages and a bowl of water. Iolaus hissed as the last bit of cloth was gently pulled free, and Hercules' jaw tightened with anger. Bruised and raw flesh encircled each wrist, a livid testimony. Iolaus must have struggled fiercely against whatever had bound him, fighting to free his hands and strike back but unable to do so.  
  
"How do they look?" Iolaus asked. He tried to feel the damage, but Sennet slapped his fingers away and scooped up some of the salve, working it into the marred skin.  
  
"Not too bad," Hercules lied, trying to modulate his voice into something casual. The old soldier met his eyes as she wrapped clean cloth around Iolaus' wrists, then she shook her head with a wry smile and tied off the bandage. The food arrived then, two trays worth of bread, roast pork, cheese, olives, onions, and fruit, with a generous serving of wine and another of gingered water.  
  
Iolaus lifted his head and sniffed, then grinned. "Oh, yeah." He reached for the tray and found the olives, popping one in his mouth and chewing in delight. "I know you two don't want my hands all over this, so could one of you fix me a plate or something?" He found the cheese and broke off a portion of crumbly feta.  
  
Over dinner, Iolaus told them his part of the story. It was a strange tale, though it fit with what they had seen at the temple. The wizard, coveting a magical artifact of great power, had murdered the priestess and stolen the chalice. Hecate, restrained by the very protections she had placed on the cup, could not act directly against Orikos. She had, therefore, manipulated the situation so that Iolaus was compelled to retrieve the chalice whether he wanted to help the goddess or not.  
  
"So, we have two more days to get it back and get it to the temple." Iolaus wiped up the last of the pork dripping on his plate with a hunk of bread, then wrapped a bit of onion inside. Popping the morsel in his mouth, he sighed in gustatory contentment, much more relaxed than at the start of the evening. "She said the chalice would bring back my sight, and she could deal with Orikos once it was out of his hands."  
  
Sennet leaned forward, gesturing with her mug. "It's impossible, lad. You'll never get close enough to that damned wizard to touch him, much less pick his pocket. Five seconds after you're in the palace, you're dead. Besides, there's the beast to contend with."  
  
The mug that Iolaus had been fumbling for went skittling away from his seeking hands. Hercules caught it deftly and wrapped his friend's fingers around it. "Beast?" the hunter said. "We've faced monsters before. What kind of beast is it?" He took a long drink of watered wine, but Hercules could see the tiny tremors in Iolaus' hands.  
  
That decided it. Iolaus has been through enough all ready. Hercules crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Doesn't matter anyway. He's not going to the palace. I am." There was no way Hercules was going to let Iolaus risk himself like that. Not now. Not when he couldn't see a blow coming to dodge out of the way.  
  
It was an angry face that Iolaus turned toward his friend. Hercules could feel the glare even through the sash around the hunter's eyes. "No, you're not. I'm not helpless, Herc. Anyway, if Orikos finds out who you are, he'll arrest you and do the same to you that he did to me. He's got enough guards to take even you out, at least temporarily, and the law is on his side. He's got the ruler of this city, Aristarkus, wrapped around his finger."  
  
"It's true," Sennet said. "Orikos would kill you without a second thought and Aristarkus wouldn't do a thing to stop him." The woman looked away, her face unreadable in the flickering firelight. "He's right about the guard, too. I've heard your reputation," she looked back at Hercules. "I know what you can do, and I know what my people can do, and we can take you. Not easily, and not without much loss of life, but we could. Would. Some of the guard are loyal to Aristarkus, but far more look to the wizard. Force isn't the way to go, lad."  
  
Hercules' clenched his fist in mute anger. The situation seemed hopeless, but he would not give up. "So what's your plan, Iolaus?"  
  
"Simple," the hunter replied with a grin. "I get caught again."  
  
Chapter 9  
  
His world was warm and soft and dark, and smelled of leather and lavender. In the distance, he could hear the gabble of a flock of geese in the yard, and the cluck of hens as the innkeeper's wife threw grain out for the birds. Wood smoke and the bitter tang of too many people living too close together mixed with the smell of something roasting downstairs. He thought it was chicken, but wasn't sure.  
  
Iolaus sat up in bed, tucking the blanket carefully around Hercules' shoulders as he rose. There was a slight chill in the air, courtesy of an open window by the sound, and he didn't want Herc to wake up quite yet. The argument last night had kept them up late, and had not ended yet. Iolaus was not eager to join battle again so soon. Not before breakfast at any rate.  
  
Feeling along the edge of the bed with careful fingers, he found the loose pants he'd worn the day before and slipped into them. He listened carefully, taking a sliding step forward, and found the window. The sun was warm on his hand as he reached out, and he played with the sensation for a moment, letting his hand slide in and out of the soothing heat. It felt strange, but familiar too. How often had he seen cats sleeping in the sun, or done so himself, but he'd never felt the light like this. It was a physical thing, tangible; he could feel the outlines of shadow with his hands, cool and then warm.  
  
"Having fun, Sweetcheeks?" Aphrodite's voice was soft, but it startled Iolaus. He turned with a gasp, eyes wide and searching instinctively for threat. "Easy, now. It's only me." She smelled like vanilla and sex, like spring flowers and musk. Like the feel of light on his skin, her scent was something he'd not noticed before, not to mark it. Now it eddied around him like incense.  
  
"Hi, Aphrodite," he said, waving. "How...uh...." She put a finger on his lips and he flinched, startled at the contact. He hadn't realized she was so close, but there was her smell, her heat, the soft flutter of her gown against his bare toes. He closed his useless eyes with a sigh and said, "I wish I could see you. You even smell beautiful."  
  
Her soft hand touched his hair, his brow, his swollen cheek. "Oh, Iolaus. How do you get yourself in these messes?" Her voice was sweet, intimate, and a little sad. Her fingers moved to his lips again and he kissed them, a supplication, an offering, not a demand.  
  
"Not my fault, this time," he said. Her fingers moved away, tracing sweet warmth over his chest, his back. Iolaus groaned softly and leaned toward her, wanting but not daring to ask. She was, after all, his best friend's sister.  
  
Her gentle, teasing touch roamed over his arms, his wrists, then back to his face. Her lips were close, her breath rich as new wine and just as intoxicating. "I can't heal your eyes, Sweetcheeks. Rules. You don't need them to deal with that dweeb, anyway. Hecate may be a headcase, but she knows what she's doing. Now finish up here and get your tight little butt to Athens. The pageant is starting in a few days and I want you there." She pressed her soft lips to his, a fleeting benediction, and then she was gone.  
  
Iolaus licked his lips, tasting his Goddess, and wondered if Lilah would mind being woken up this early. 'Dite in the springtime was a potent force, and it would be some minutes before Iolaus could walk comfortably. "Where's a cold stream when you need one?" he muttered.  
  
"What?" Rustling, the creak of the rope bed, and two thumps that were probably Herc's feet hitting the floor. "What did you say? And what's that smell?"  
  
Blessing the loose fit of his pants, Iolaus found his shirt and slipped it on, hoping the fabric would further hide his interest in his best friend's sister. "The lavender? I've been wondering that myself. I've been smelling it ever since you showed up yesterday." Making a great show of it, he sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose, making his way closer and closer to Hercules. "It's even stronger over here."  
  
"Ha ha. Hey!" Herc sounded startled, and Iolaus found himself fighting to keep from being undressed again. Large hands were pulling at his shirt, lifting it up.  
  
"Hey yourself. Have you gone nuts?" Iolaus pushed at the wall of muscle in front of him, to little effect. "Cut it out, Herc! What's wrong?" Now his head was being turned gently side to side, and he was getting not so divine morning breath blown in his face.  
  
"You're healed! Your bruises, they're gone!" Herc let go of his chin and took his hands, turning them over and pushing back his sleeves and unwrapping the bandages. "Your wrists, too. I thought you were going to have scars, but it's like nothing happened."  
  
Iolaus pulled his hands away and pressed his fingers to his face, his chest. Nothing was sore. It didn't hurt to breathe and he could move with ease, although things were as dark as they had been last night. "Huh. Remind me to pour a libation to your sister when we get to Athens." He grinned and sent the goddess a mental thank you.  
  
"Which one?" Herc sounded suspicious. He pulled away and Iolaus heard a rustle of leather as the demigod dressed and laced up his boots. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Aphrodite."  
  
Iolaus licked his humming lips, catching the faintest trace of divine savor. "Maybe it was Artemis. I am her Golden Hunter, after all." He wiggled his eyebrows and struck a heroic pose. The pillow that hit him came out of nowhere, but was completely expected.  
  
"It was 'Dite. You look way too smug for it to have been anyone else."  
  
"Smug? Me?" He infused the denial with shocked innocence.  
  
"Smug. Come on, Iolaus, she's my _sister_. How could you?" Herc placed Iolaus' stick in his hand and then put Iolaus' hand on his arm. The two made their way downstairs and into the common room of the inn. It was chicken, after all. Iolaus could smell them roasting on the open pit. Roast chicken and fresh bread. His stomach rumbled.  
  
They found a table and sat. The sun warmed Iolaus' back and he suddenly realized he'd left the sash for his eyes upstairs. Then the food arrived and he decided it could wait for later. "She's the goddess of love and beauty, Herc. I'm a mere mortal man. I can't help myself." He wrapped a morsel of chicken in the warm barley bread and licked his fingers clean.  
  
"Try."  
  
Iolaus grinned and reached for the olives he could smell by his left hand. He tossed one into the air and caught it in his mouth, tart and mellow all at once. Nearly ripe, but with enough green in it to make the flavor interesting.  
  
"Impressive. I still hate your plan." Now the demigod sounded serious, all banter aside, and Iolaus could see in his mind's-eye the expression on his friend's face. Earnest, unyielding, and self-assured. It was the look Herc always wore when he knew he was right and the other guy was wrong. Usually, Iolaus was behind him all the way when he wore it, but now the look was aimed at him. Even unseen, it made him squirm as he tried to bolster his resolve.  
  
"You heard what Sennet said. For once, force isn't the answer. I..."  
  
Herc interrupted in a low voice, almost sounding embarrassed. "Sennet and I talked after you went to bed. We came up with another plan. She's going to get me hired on as a guard, I'll get close to Orikos and steal the chalice, and you'll stay here where it's safe."  
  
That took the wind out of Iolaus' sails. The worst part was, it was a good plan. Simple, like most of their plans tended to be, and workable, like most of their plans tended not to be. "What if someone recognizes you?" he said at last. That was really the only flaw in the idea, apart from the bit where he got left behind while his friends went into danger.  
  
"I haven't been in Thesally in years," Herc said. "No one has noticed me yet, and I don't think anyone will. You know how it usually goes, anyway. No one knows it's me until you call me by my name, or Salmoneus arranges some weird charity thing with me as the guest demigod. I'll be fine."  
  
Iolaus looked into his personal darkness, but found no answers there. The cup under his hands was wooden, smooth and cool from the well water inside, but he couldn't tell what color it was. He'd be in the way if he went after the chalice himself, a liability. "Right. It's...it's a good plan, Herc." He ventured a smile, and could feel the tension leaving his friend's body from across the table. "When are you going to go?"  
  
"Sennet will be here midmorning. She'll introduce me to this First Citizen as her nephew, and I'll have the chalice before you can say Echidna."  
  
Iolaus nodded. "Just be careful, all right? Don't underestimate Orikos. He's..." Iolaus ran his fingers through his hair, fighting through feelings of uselessness and frustration to find the words he needed. "He's different. There's something about him that feels wrong. He's like a monster we'd fight, but in human form, with all his anger and violence and destructiveness hidden under this mask."  
  
"I'll be careful. He may be a sorcerer, but he's just a man, right? And, like you said last night, we've fought monsters before. The beast Sennet was talking about can't be worse than the Hydra, or the Nemian Lion. Don't worry so much."  
  
He had a point. Iolaus couldn't help thinking, however, that they'd fought together against all those monsters. Side by side. This didn't feel right. Nothing had felt right since coming to Pinios. He was off balance, fighting in the dark in more ways than one, a marker in some game of a goddess who wanted her revenge at any price.  
  
The warm feelings Aphrodite had left him with were banished. Iolaus picked up a piece of bread and started shredding it, nibbling tiny bites now and again. "Just come back in one piece. I don't want to have to sniff my way to Athens, although the beauty contest might be a lot more interesting if I had to judge by feel." The wit was strained, but Herc laughed anyway.  
  
The door opened, and Iolaus heard the creak of leather and the muffled rustle of oiled mail. "Sennet's here," he said, and ate another morsel of the grainy bread.  
  
"How..." Herc twisted on the bench as the woman walked up to them. He turned back and said, "How did you know it was her?"  
  
Iolaus shrugged. "Heard her." He also heard the almost inaudible sound of bare feet on the packed earth floor, and smelled the salve Rina's grandfather used for his joints. "Hello, Sennet. Hello, Rina. Hungry?" He pushed the plate of bread across the table.  
  
The patter of feet sped around the table and Iolaus felt a true smile take up residence on his face. Thin arms snaked around his neck as the little girl climbed up on the bench, but his smile faded as he felt them tremble. "Hey, what's this? What's wrong?" He brushed his fingers over the girl's face, but found no injuries. He smelled salt, and felt the slightest roughness of dried tears, but no blood or the warmth of bruising. "What happened?" he demanded, turning toward Sennet.  
  
"I'm not sure. I was on my way here when this little girl came up and asked my name. When I told her, she told me you had told her to come to me if she was in trouble, but she wouldn't tell me anything else. I'll admit, I'm a shade curious myself." Sennet helped herself to bread and chicken and sat down with a creak and a crackle of her knees.  
  
"Rina, what's wrong? Is it your grandfather?" Iolaus took the girl back into his arms, and now he felt her whole body shaking. "She's terrified of something."  
  
"I saw Mikolos and his brother talking," she said in a tiny voice. "And his brother gave him some money and then they saw me and I ran like you said Iol...Aelus. And found Sennet, and you're right, she's nice even if she is a guard." Rina burrowed deeper into his arms, the trembles easing at last with the purge of her story.  
  
Iolaus clenched his fist, wanting to hit something, Mikolos by preference. To Rina, he said, "You'll be safe now, little one."  
  
"Mikolos' brother," said Sennet. "What does he look like?" She sounded like she already knew, but didn't want to believe her suspicions.  
  
"Well, he's a guard, and he really needs to grow a beard, because Oma says no woman will ever marry him with that face." The girl reached for the bread and took a big bite. "I think his name is Nikos."  
  
"Nikos," Iolaus echoed, his fist beginning to ache from the tension. "Him again. Between him and that sorcerer, my life has gotten very interesting here lately." If the child had not been sitting in his lap, he would have found several, more vehement things to say on the subject.  
  
From across the table, he heard Sennet shifting uncomfortably, the leather of her armor creaking with every movement. "This Mikolos, he knows you are in the city? He knows your name?"  
  
"No. Yes. Yes and no." Iolaus frowned, then organized his explanation a bit better as Herc made frustrated noises. "Yes he knows I'm in the city. No, he does not know my name."  
  
"He's the guy you fought last night?" Hercules asked. Iolaus nodded, and Rina giggled. "What's so funny?"  
  
The little bundle in his arms squirmed, suddenly shy again. "It's okay, Rina. Herc's a friend. He's my best friend. You don't have to be scared of him." Iolaus reached up and stroked the girl's hair soothingly, amazed at how fine it was to the touch. Almost like silk, or flowing water.  
  
Two small hands cupped his ear, pulling him down a little, and he bent his head obligingly. For his ears alone, she said, "He's very big. And he looks mad."  
  
She was still frightened. The tremors had never really gone away, and she had stayed firmly burrowed in Iolaus' arms ever since coming into the inn. Iolaus wished Mikolos and his chinless brother were standing before him, just so he could have the pleasure of beating them senseless, blind or not. He also wished he had an army to storm the palace and take the damn cup away from Orikos so he could get his life back.  
  
What he had was a city guard who was a few months away from retirement, a little girl who was far too streetwise for her own good, and a demigod. Oh, and one blind warrior. Some army. The gods had a fine appreciation for irony; otherwise why would things like this keep happening?  
  
Giving Rina a comforting squeeze, Iolaus said, "He is pretty big, isn't he?" He could feel the girl nodding, and he grinned. "Herc's not mad at you, little one. I think he's mad at Nikos. I know I am. And Mikolos. Were you laughing about him?"  
  
More nodding. "He looked funny with his nose broken," she said softly, her voice barely carrying. "Like a big, dumb frog."  
  
"So, Mikolos knows that there is a blind warrior, new to the city. And now Nikos knows," Sennet said. She took a drink of water, then took off her helmet and set it on the table. "That's not good. Nikos will tell Orikos, who is not stupid. This changes everything."  
  
Hercules spoke up. "No, nothing is changed. It doesn't matter. Orikos might know about you, but he doesn't know about me. If I can get into the palace, get close to him, this will all be over."  
  
"He has no proof it's you, Iolaus," Sennet said, sounding convinced once again. "As far as I'm concerned, I killed you in the forest. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. You look different..." there was a pause, and Iolaus could almost feel her eyes on him. When she spoke again, there was confusion and a bit of awe in her voice. "Very different. You are...the light was behind you before, I didn't see. What magic is this? There are no bruises, your lip...You could be a different man altogether."  
  
'Thanks 'Dite,' Iolaus said, toasting the air. "It's a long story, Sennet. Well," he reconsidered, "no. It's a short story. Aphrodite visited me this morning and fixed me up."  
  
"Iolaus!" Herc sounded shocked, and a bit scandalized.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Iolaus said, "That's not what I meant, and you know it. She's your sister. I just meant that she...um...healed me. Except for my sight. Said something about the rules, and how I didn't need my eyes anyway, to get the chalice back." He took a bite of bread and added, "Someone needs to get his mind out of the gutter."  
  
Across the table, Herc snorted, and an olive pit bounced off of Iolaus' forehead.  
  
"I thought Alcemene taught you better manners than that, Herc," Iolaus chided, earning another giggle from the slowly relaxing girl in his lap. The joking was wasting a little time, but that giggle made it worthwhile. Rina had been frightened today, and a little more of her innocence lost to the realities of this place. That joking was still possible made things safer, more normal for her. "Rina, could you go ask the innkeeper for more bread? I can hear Herc's stomach growling from here." They needed to talk seriously, and Iolaus didn't want her to be any more frightened than she already was.  
  
She hopped off of his lap reluctantly and picked up the empty bread platter. "I'm not dumb, Aelus," she chided, using his alias. Then she padded away, her bare feet making small slapping noises on the packed earth.  
  
"Smart kid," Sennet said. Then, lowering her voice, she said, "I've spoken with Aristarkus' secretary and we have an interview with the First Citizen in one hour. With luck, my nephew, Tomas, will be a member of the guard before the day is out. I'm in favor with Orikos right now, since I killed you, and I think I can get Hercules added to his personal guard."  
  
"If not, I'll find a way to get close to the wizard, then take the chalice from him," Herc said.  
  
The plan still made Iolaus queasy, but it was the best one they had right now, and they were running out of time for planning anything else. "Just...be careful, okay?" Iolaus said. "Don't underestimate him. Orikos is a monster." The look in the man's eyes as he had held the chalice over Iolaus' face, the sheer pleasure at another's suffering, made his warrior's blood run cold.  
  
A warm hand folded over his. "I'll be careful. Don't worry. I'll see you tonight. And you'll see me. I promise." Herc gave a little squeeze, then rose and followed Sennet out of the inn. And it was wrong, just plain wrong that Iolaus wasn't at his side.  
  
The day passed slowly. Time seemed to stand still, without the passage of the sunlight to mark it, and Iolaus was restless. Rina stayed close, but not even her presence could distract him from worry about his friend's fate, and his own. What if he stayed like this forever? What if Hercules failed, or was killed? Iolaus would never forgive himself, if that happened. How could he face Alcemene? Not to mention Zeus. He was no bard, like Orpheus, to go to Hades and bargain for his friend's life with a song or a tale.  
  
And what of Sennet? She risked much, helping him. Her position, perhaps her life, would be forfeit if her part in this was discovered. At the least, she would be stripped of her pension and banished. At the worst, she'd be executed for collaboration. Orikos was not merciful, despite his smiling words. Iolaus had seen the man's soul, black thing that it was, shining from his eyes as the light dimmed to nothing. Nothing human, nothing sane lived behind those eyes, and Iolaus feared for his friends.  
  
Lastly, he feared for himself. Blind, how would he survive in this world? The enemies he and Hercules had made through a lifetime of fighting evil would be upon him like a pack of rabid dogs before the week was out. Not that Iolaus would care, by then, if Herc was dead.  
  
"Brooding looks bad on that face," said a soft voice. "My Golden Hunter. How will you hunt now?" The voice was strong, for all its beauty, and held a weight of sorrow that made him feel like a child before her.  
  
"Artemis," he breathed. It was a day for receiving gods, apparently. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were coming." Hercules could treat his relatives with candor, even contempt if he wished. Iolaus was keenly aware of his own mortality, just now. Besides, he liked Artemis. He had gifted her with the first kill every year of his life since he'd learned to hunt. First and best.  
  
He felt the goddess as a warm radiance on his hands and face. She smelled like the earth, and growing things, and blood. "Well, Aphrodite paid a call, and I decided to do the same, when I heard what was going on. How are you faring?" Calloused fingertips, an archer's fingertips, caressed the whole skin where 'Dite had healed him. "You are in no pain?"  
  
He shook his head. "None, Lady. Thank you for asking. I'm just worried about Hercules."  
  
He heard the brush of divine hair against buckskin leather and knew that she had nodded. "My brother. He is bold and resolute, but unwise in this course of action. To his credit, he does it to protect you, but you are wise to fear for him."  
  
At her words, his blood ran cold. "What do you mean? What's going on?"  
  
Her hand touched his face, covered his eyes. "See," she said, and he did. Color and light exploded before him. It was not the inn he was looking at, however, but a battle. Hercules was on the ground, struggling to rise, as a great foot bore down upon him. Not far away, Orikos was laughing, clapping his hands with glee.  
  
He blinked, and the image changed. A cell, full of soldiers, stripped of weapons and rank, Sennet among them. Aristarkus in chains. Hercules, chained to the wall, battered and sagging, his eyes closed.  
  
"Hercules!" Iolaus shouted, and reached out to help his friend, but then the goddess took away her hand and night descended once again. "No! Wait! I have to help him!" He turned his blind eyes to Artemis. "Help me help him, please? Can you lend me sight, just for a while? Just long enough to help him?"  
  
"And if it meant throwing away your chance to ever see again?" came her soft, sad voice. "What then, my hunter?"  
  
Iolaus swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as sand, but his answer was quick. "Yes. Even then." It was the easiest and the hardest decision he'd ever made. "Can you? Will you?"  
  
An eternal pause. He could hear his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears. He could hear the chickens scratching outside, and the sound of the innkeeper's plump wife making the beds upstairs. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the baby on the third floor sigh in her sleep. What he did not hear was an answer. "Artemis? Lady?" he asked, and put out a tentative hand. It met soft skin, and he drew back with a gasp. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd gone."  
  
"No. I am still here, my hunter. You do not listen, shining heart. My sister told you. My cursed aunt, the author of this farce, she told you. That which is essential is invisible to the eye. The eye deceives. The heart perceives clearly. Trust to it."  
  
Iolaus slumped, clenching his fist. "Riddles. You all talk in riddles. Hercules is in danger and I'm blind and you talk in riddles." He pounded the table once, loosing frustration in action, and regretting it instantly. You don't talk to gods that way, not even ones who favor you. Opening his hand, he said, "Forgive me. I'm just so...helpless, like this."  
  
"Are you?" asked Artemis, and now there was a smile in her voice. "I seem to recall two battles yesterday from which you emerged the victor. You're a hero, Iolaus. If it was easy..."  
  
"...everyone would be doing it. I know, I know." He had to smile, despite himself. Artemis' calloused fingers traced his face and he leaned into the touch. "Thank you for reminding me." The frustration was passing, and in its place was a calm, centered feeling. "Its like, before you go into battle. You're ready for it. Your sword is sharp, your armor is mended, and your horse is fresh. You're strong, well fed, well trained. You're ready. It's that kind of feeling. I'm afraid, but now I'm not so afraid that I can't fight."  
  
Artemis, Goddess of war no less than Ares, smiled on her chosen, and kissed his brow. "Valiant heart. Go now and save my brother, for I love him well. As do you."  
  
"Yeah. I do." A whisper of green scent, the rustle of leaves, and she was gone again.  
  
The inn lurched back into noise at her passing. "Rina," said the warrior, picking up his staff, "We need to go to the palace. Can you take me there?"  
  
Chapter 10  
  
The change from the poorer precincts of Pinios to the more affluent was not subtle. Rina led Iolaus across a bridge, and suddenly the air was cleaner. The street was paved and swept, and it was suddenly much quieter. Either the coup he had seen in Artemis' vision had not yet happened, or the people did not know about it yet. Otherwise there would be panic in the streets.  
  
He also began to hear expressions of disgust and contempt from the people they passed. Nothing too overt, but he noticed, and Rina noticed. He felt her stiffen, under his hand, and draw herself up a little taller. "That's right, kid," he said. "You show 'em you've got nothing to be ashamed of."  
  
"I don't have," came the indignant reply. "Bunch of stuck-up prigs."  
  
Iolaus smiled at the girl's spirit and pondered how best to get himself arrested. He could, of course, simply march up to the gate and announce himself, but that would probably get him killed outright. No, he needed to go in through the back door, as it were. It would probably take too long to be picked up on a vagrancy charge, given the number of beggars in this city, so he would have to go another route.  
  
The smell of fish stew wafting from a side street tickled a memory and gave him an idea. Rina slowed to a stop and he felt her turn and tilt her head back to look up at him. "Why are you smiling like that, Iolaus?" she asked, suspicious of his sudden wicked glee.  
  
"I've got a plan," he replied. "Wanna get some back from these prigs? Three streets over, there's an inn I need to get to. The Prancing Pegasus. Do you know it?"  
  
The girl nodded, but her voice sounded doubtful. "They'll never serve us there, Iolaus. The man who runs it is worse than most of these folks put together. He'll throw you out, or have you arrested, or something worse."  
  
Iolaus grinned. "I'm hoping for arrested, actually. This is going to be fun."  
  
The place still smelled of olive oil and good cooking, but now he could smell the under layer of spilled ale and too many different kinds of perfume rising from the well-washed and well-groomed patrons. Rina slowed as they entered, suddenly unsure. "They're all looking at us," she whispered.  
  
"Good. Let them look," the hunter replied, and stepped forward with a sharp rap of his stick. "I want service," he boomed. "Girl, lead me to the bar. I have a mighty thirst." He was blustering like an orator, or one of Aristophanes' clowns, and Rina almost ruined the effect by giggling. He heard the snicker and heard her stifle it and say, meekly, "Yes, sir."  
  
The bar was before him, the wood smooth under his hands, and he could smell the three-day old pomade in the innkeeper's hair. "Leave. Now. You are not welcome here. I'll have no beggars in my establishment." It was the same man, the same sneer in his voice, and Iolaus had little trouble mustering up the indignation he'd felt the day before.  
  
"I am a free citizen of Greece!" he shouted, rapping his staff against the bar. Pewter mugs danced and one clattered to the slate floor. "What right do you have to treat me as a lesser man than yourself? I demand that you serve me, and my daughter, the best you have in this miserable excuse for a tavern." This was fun. This was the most fun he'd had since coming to this town.  
  
The innkeeper inhaled sharply and stepped back a pace. "If you do not leave, I will summon the guard. How dare you come here, you dirty little man? Take yourself and your filthy offspring with you."  
  
The glee Iolaus had been riding turned suddenly into a bitter kind of anger. "Little? Filthy? She is a precious jewel in Pinios' crown, you creep, and you have insulted the city in insulting her." His voice dropped low, and now he could hear the sound of feet in quick march, and the jingle of mail. They were one street over, and coming fast. One of the patrons must have put up the call, for he was certain he hadn't given the innkeeper a chance to do so. No matter. Time to end this farce.  
  
Quick as thought, he reached out and snagged the man's tunic and drew him forward. "Rina," he said, in a more normal voice, "time for you to go home."  
  
"But..."  
  
"No buts. It's about to get dangerous. Go to your grandfather and wait for me. If I don't come in a day and a night, then find a way to get out of the city. Herc was telling me about a woman he met at the crossroads, at Diminos. She'll help you. She's a weaver." He fumbled one-handed at his belt and drew off the pouch of money Sennet had given him. "This should tide you over until you can get to her."  
  
Instead of taking the pouch, he felt her thin arms wrap around his waist and hold tight. "Be careful, Iolaus," she said. Then she took the money and ran. He listened to the light slap-slap of her bare feet on the cobbles until the sound of the soldiers approaching drowned her out.  
  
The innkeeper trembled in his grip, all scorn having fled the moment Iolaus laid hand upon him. "Don't hurt me," he whimpered. "Take what you want, just don't hurt me."  
  
Disgusted, Iolaus dropped the man and pushed him away. "Your breath stinks," he said, and turned to face the door. If he didn't survive this day, Rina would still be safe. Diminos was far from here, and Hercules had said the weaver was a good woman. Perhaps she would teach Rina her trade, and the girl would not have to steal to survive. It was a burden lifted, and Iolaus found himself almost at peace. _Both the bait and the hunter_, he thought, as the first soldier entered. _You think I'm the goat, but I'm really the tiger_.  
  
Reaching, he found and seized a mug of ale, taking a long drink and spilling much of it into his beard. "Got a right to be here," he insisted, letting his voice take on a drunken slur. "I c'n pay." He took another drink, spilling more than he swallowed, and stumbled away from the bar, toward the guardsmen.  
  
He collided, and gave a surprised yell. "Whoozis?" he asked, and pawed his hand over the man's face. He encountered a chin, and relaxed a little, inside. So far, no one seemed to recognize him. "How ya doin', beautiful?" He leered up at the man, and leaned against him. "Wanna come play hunt the chicken? Cluck-cluck?"  
  
"Get off of me, you blind fool." Iolaus pretended surprise at the sound of a very male voice and staggered backward into another soldier.  
  
"Sorry, sorry. You just smelled so nice!" He grinned as hard hands grasped his arms, holding him in place. "Hey...I said shorry. Lemme go!" Hiccupping, he put up a token struggle, and then let himself go limp. "Just wanna drink, ish all."  
  
"Take him to the House of Law. Let him sleep it off," said the man holding him. "He smells like a brewery."  
  
Feeling the time was right, Iolaus let loose a rafter-rattling burp, and then pretended to pass out.  
  
It was difficult to keep from grinning at the sounds of disgust and dismay as he was hauled down the street. It was more difficult to tamp down on the fear and trepidation he felt going back into the place of the wizard's power. The smell of the stones, damp with moss and lingering puddles from the rains of yesterday, the sound of booted feet echoing from those stones, and the call of the watch, all reminded him of the hours he'd spent chained in that dank, little cell. More than all of this, though, there was a feel about the place. An oppressive weight, a chill that went into him as the troop passed into the precincts of the courtyard. It was all Iolaus could do to hang limp, and not struggle free and run as fast as he could from this nightmare.  
  
They passed down stone corridors, met sentries and were cleared, and finally reached the guardroom. Not until then did Iolaus stir and seem to waken. "Hey! Where are we?" He blinked and swayed as they set him on his feet, trying to look drunk and helpless and confused.  
  
Evidently they bought it. "Just taking you to a nice, quiet place for a bit. Just until you sober up." The guards laughed, and one of them gave him a shove to get him moving.  
  
Iolaus stumbled, fetching up against a scarred wooden table, and they laughed again. "'S not nice," he muttered, swinging a belligerent fist towards the men. As he hoped, this only made them laugh harder.  
  
Herc was here, somewhere, and injured. Not dead, he told himself fiercely. Not dead. Just temporarily incapacitated. And Orikos had him. He'd been in the vision, too. There'd been no sign of Sennet, though. Had she escaped detection, somehow? Was she still in favor, or was she in one of the cells, chained and stripped as he had been? Had the vision been the present or the future? He ached to know.  
  
A hard hand between his shoulder blades took him unawares and sent him sprawling, breaking into his pondering and worry with a chorus of mocking laughter. More hands caught him and turned him and shoved him, roughly, into the yawning dark. This time the stumble was unfeigned, and Iolaus nearly fell to the ground before he was caught and turned and shoved again.  
  
_Must not fight back_, he told himself, as his head began to spin a little. _I'm drunk, blind, and helpless. If they think otherwise, they'll get suspicious.  
_  
It was hard not to lash back. He could take these idiots, even blind, even unarmed. They were careless and sounded very young, even if most of them were bigger than he was. Another shove, another stumbling fall into metal- sheathed hands, and Iolaus was holding on to his temper with nails and teeth as he was shoved to the floor. In a moment, they'd start kicking, and he'd be forced to defend himself.  
  
"Ares' left nut!" A welcome and angry voice boomed from the stairs. "What in the name of all that's holy do you think you're doing? Is this the way we treat people in this city?" Sennet strode across the room like an avenging Titan, and Iolaus had to smile at the sound of cuffed heads and yelps as his attackers were pushed aside. "We ain't Athenians, you raggedy young pups. We are the Guards of Pinios, and we still have some standards here."  
  
She helped him to stand and held him steady as he swayed, a little dizzy from all the turning. There was no recognition in her voice, nor any special care in her touch, as she said, "Apologies, citizen. You are under arrest, but you're not to be treated harshly. By my order."  
  
"Aw, Sarge," one of the younger voices whined. "He took a swing at us. We was just defending ourselves."  
  
"Na, Acton," said another. "He's naout but a drunk, and a blind one at that. Sarge s'right. Put him in a cell, let him sleep it off."  
  
Her hand held him in place, and he kept still, swaying just a little in her grip to keep up the act. "You're all dismissed. Go back to your patrol. I won't report you this time, but if I ever catch any of you abusing a suspect again, I'll have you on charges. Get me?"  
  
Voices variously resentful and ashamed acknowledged her words. "Good. Now you go on. Telos, stay with me a moment."  
  
"Aye, Sarge." The others shuffled out, and Sennet pushed Iolaus gently down onto the bench. He wanted more than anything to ask what was going on, but he couldn't. Not yet.  
  
A hunk of coarse bread was shoved into his hand. "Eat this. It'll help sober you up," the woman said. "Telos, who do we have in the cells? We got a full house?"  
  
"Aye, Sarge. Two violent disorderlies, one murder suspect, and your...um..."  
  
"Say it, Telos," the woman chided, sounding tired and cross. "My traitorous nephew. I cannot believe I actually recommended him for a post. First Citizen will have my hide, come the morning."  
  
"Na, Sarge. Bain't your fault. Aristarkus knows that, well enough. Where do you want to put the runt, then?"  
  
Iolaus nibbled his bread and said nothing, but his heart felt lighter. Hercules was alive. Sennet was undiscovered, and Hercules lived. All was not lost.  
  
After a long pause, presumably for thought, Sennet said, "I hate to do it, but put him in with Tomas. My nephew may be a murderous traitor, but he's secured just now, and this little fellow will probably be safest with him, at least until morning."  
  
Secured? Since when did Hercules stay in any chains longer than he wanted? _Sennet, I love you, but what's going on?  
_  
With no protest, he let himself be hauled to his feet and propelled forward. The hand stayed on his arm, this time, guiding him roughly, but not unkindly, to the cell. "We'll let you out in the morning, citizen. I'd advise you to drink less, in future, and you'll not be bothered by us again. Are we clear?"  
  
"Crystal," he slurred, smiling toward the woman's voice. "You're beautiful, Sarge. Will you marry me?"  
  
She snorted a laugh, and opened the cell door. "Watch yourself, citizen. I don't suffer fools gladly." Then she gave him a gentle push and he was in the cell and the door closed behind him.  
  
Lavender, sweat, leather, and, Gods, blood. "Hercules?"  
  
His friend's voice was tired and hoarse. "Iolaus? What are you doing here?" The rattle of chains pinpointed him in the cell, and the hunter crossed the distance quickly. "You shouldn't be here."  
  
"Neither should you. Why haven't you broken out, yet? This isn't one of those honor things again, is it?" His hands ghosted over the chains, feeling strangely cold lengths of cloth wound through the links. They made his flesh crawl, somehow, to feel them, and he drew his hands away again, using them to look for the source of blood. "Are you badly hurt?"  
  
"I'm fine. It's just a couple of cuts, and I was knocked out for a while. You know how head wounds bleed. Did you see...was Sennet out there? I thought I heard her voice. Can she get you out of here?"  
  
Iolaus found the crusted blood at Hercules's temple, and could feel the warmth of bruising through his friend's clothes. He was more hurt than he was saying, but not by much. There was no reason for him to still be in chains, hanging from a wall. "She put me in here, Herc. She's okay. Can we get out of here, now, and get that damned chalice before anything else goes wrong?"  
  
Leather creaked, and chains clinked as Hercules shifted his weight. "No. We can't."  
  
"Why not? Just break loose and get us out of here." He traced the chain back to an ordinary enough bolt in the wall. The stone felt normal, and the metal was nothing special, that he could tell. Just forged iron and rivets. "What are you waiting for?"  
  
Sounding embarrassed, and a little afraid, his friend said, "I can't break the chains. I've tried. They're too strong. I can barely even lift them, they're so heavy." Then his voice strengthened and he said, "Call Sennet and get out of here, now. I'll be fine. Get yourself to safety, please."  
  
Something was wrong, here. "This doesn't make sense," said Iolaus. He reached out and lifted Herc's arm, chain and all, with little effort. "It's not even very good steel. With a bit of leverage, _I _could probably break it. What's wrong with you?" A terrible thought occurred to him, then. "Did Orikos poison you?" Fear rose in his breast, and he put his hand on Herc's head to check for fever.  
  
"No," Hercules sighed. "He never touched me. That monster of his was more than enough." He shifted again and Iolaus felt the tension of those great muscles as Hercules tried to lift his arm. After a groaning effort, he managed to raise it a fraction, but he could not hold his hand up and he let it fall again to his side. "How did you do it? Those links must be an inch thick, if not more."  
  
"Huh?" Iolaus touched the chain again, his fingers ghosting over the metal. "Herc, there's not enough metal here to hold a determined cat, much less you." He lifted his friend's arm again, to demonstrate. "The only thing weird is this cloth."  
  
"Cloth?" Now Hercules sounded confused. "What cloth?"  
  
Deftly, Iolaus unwound the clammy length of silk from the chain links. "This cloth," he said, and threw it on the floor.  
  
"Whoa! What did you do?" Iolaus heard his friend shift, then the sound of metal straining and snapping. "It got lighter all of a sudden, like it was nothing. The other one is still the same, though, and I don't see any cloth."  
  
Finding his friend's other hand, Iolaus traced the thin metal up until he encountered another length of silk. This one was also soon free. "Try it now."  
  
Metal snapped, then clanged as the manacles fell to the floor. "Much better." Hercules' voice sounded stronger already, as though life was returning to it. "How did you know? I didn't see..."  
  
Iolaus grinned. "Neither did I. It must have been an illusion, or something. I seem to be immune to illusions at present. Now, tell me what happened."  
  
They sat on the floor, backs to the wall. Hercules was a warm wall of strength at his side, and Iolaus leaned a little against him, drawing on that strength as he had always done. It was fair enough, and an even trade, as Herc was leaning right back. They propped each other and so both emerged the stronger. It was good to be together again. Together, they could do anything.  
  
"It went well, at first," Hercules said. He reached and dragged something close, then handed a dripping gourd to Iolaus. "Sennet got me in to see Aristarkus and I got hired on pretty quickly. I think they're a little short handed, just now, or something." He took the gourd back and took a drink himself. There was a muted splash as he returned the dipper to the bucket, and then he resumed his story.  
  
"Anyway, I spent most of the morning finding my way around this place. Orikos' rooms were easy enough to find, and not that well guarded, so I thought I'd just sneak in and have a look around. Only it didn't turn out quite like I hoped."  
  
Iolaus frowned at the memory of Artemis' vision. "The beast."  
  
"Yeah," Herc said, combing his fingers through his hair. "I wasn't there two minutes before Orikos came in and summoned this...thing. I don't know what it was. I've never seen anything like it. It was like fighting a shadow, but it had claws. Sometimes it looked like a hydra, and sometimes like a lion, and sometimes like a Bacchae. Or something worse. It hit like it had anvils in its hands, and it was strong. Stronger than me." The demigod's voice had sunk as he spoke, growing more and more quiet under the weight of his memories. "I can't defeat it, Iolaus. I gave it everything I had and I never even made it bleed."  
  
Chapter 11  
  
It would be an easy matter, now, to break out of the cell. The door would not hold more than a moment or two before giving way. Better, he could punch through the wall and take them directly outside. Escape would be easy and quick, the outer wall of the city being no more than a few yards from the House of Law. The problem was, Iolaus would remain blind and Orikos would remain in power here. Not acceptable outcomes, either of them, as far as Hercules was concerned.  
  
When Iolaus closed his eyes in thought, Hercules could almost pretend that everything was normal. The red hair and scraggly excuse for a beard were strange, but he was getting used to them, and with the bruises gone, Iolaus certainly looked more hale. When he opened his eyes, though, the demigod wanted to hit something, preferably that damned wizard.  
  
Iolaus had laughing eyes, full of life. They saw everything and took delight in what they saw, be it bird or animal or, more commonly, a pretty girl. To see his eyes now, unfocused and blank, was like looking into the eyes of a corpse. The face around them, though, was as active and vital as ever. It turned to him, now, frowning. "Where do you think he stables the thing? I'd hate to have to clean them out, especially if there's no handy rivers nearby to divert." Iolaus said, scratching his beard. "What do you suppose it eats? Virgins have got to be sparse on the ground, these days, what with spring coming on and 'Dite doing her thing." His lips twitched, though he kept his face solemn and serious.  
  
Hercules broke himself free of his dour thoughts with an effort. Iolaus was teasing, he realized. It helped a little, and he managed a half- hearted protest. "Hey, pal, that's my sister you're talking about."  
  
A wicked grin stretched Iolaus' mouth and he waggled his eyebrows. "I know. But she's just so...you know. Especially in the springtime."  
  
"Iolaus!" He swatted his friend's arm. "It's bad enough watching her...bounce. She was bouncing all the way from Delphi." He grinned as Iolaus leaned his head against the wall and sighed happily.  
  
"Thanks for the mental image, Herc. I feel much better about things, now. I may be blind, but I have a vivid imagination." He closed his eyes and started to smile. Then, slowly, his eyebrows rose, until he was looking for all the world like a man watching a pretty woman...bounce. A small smile soon grew into a full-fledged leer, and Hercules couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Iolaus' eyes flew open and the leer turned into something happier. "That's a good sound. Now maybe we can start thinking of a way out of this, if you're done brooding."  
  
The laughter died away into chuckles, and Hercules rubbed the moisture from his eyes. "I'm done, I think. Gods, the look on your face. Were you really imagining Aphrodite, um," he stopped, not sure he wanted to know.  
  
In answer, Iolaus grinned again. Oh, yeah. He was going to have some serious libations to pour when they got to the festival. Both of them were.  
  
"Right. Okay. So." Hercules rubbed his neck and stood up, looking out of the barred window into the courtyard. Stables, he could smell from here. Just horses, though, as far as he could tell. He could see clumps of men and women in armor, drilling on the packed dirt, and others sitting or sleeping on benches. Discipline looked fairly lax. One of the scruffier looking guardsmen appeared to be drunk, but no one seemed to notice or care.  
  
On the other hand, there were a few who looked cleaner, moved more sharply, and seemed to resent the scruffier guards. Something there to use? Come to think of it, where did Orikos stable that beast? Unless it was some kind of magical construct, but from where had he summoned it?  
  
"The more I think about it," Iolaus said, "the more I wonder about that thing you fought." He scrambled to his feet and started pacing, on hand on the wall to guide his steps, the other hand before him to keep from running into anything. "You say it changed forms?"  
  
"Yeah. Constantly." Hercules turned from the window and crossed his arms. "And it hit hard."  
  
"You said. Harder than you. How much harder?"  
  
The memory of the battle was a blur of dark, whisping shapes and blows like hammers raining on him from all sides. "I don't know. Not much. If I'd been just a little stronger, I think I could have beat it." It had staggered, when Hercules managed to get a hit in, but not fallen, and then returned the blow with a little bit of interest. Always just a little harder than Hercules had hit.  
  
Iolaus reached the far wall. He turned and made his way back, listening with his head cocked and his useless eyes on the floor. "What did it smell like?"  
  
The question caught Hercules off-guard. "Huh? Nothing, I guess. It smelled like a monster."  
  
Iolaus paused, turning a little toward his friend. "Nothing? Or like a monster? Which one?"  
  
Shadows and light, claws and teeth, hot breath that smelled of – "Nothing. There wasn't a smell, except for rotten grape leaves and cold ashes."  
  
His brow wrinkled in thought, Iolaus pressed his back to the wall and rubbed his eyes. "That which is essential is invisible to the eye," he said softly. "The eye deceives. The heart perceives clearly. Trust to it." He lifted his blank gaze toward Hercules and said, "I think I know what you fought. It was an illusion, just like the chains."  
  
Rubbing a livid bruise on his arm, Hercules said, "It hit pretty damn hard for a figment of my imagination. It's got to be something else. Some kind of chimera, or construct, or something."  
  
"No. The chains felt solid, didn't they? But they were just pig iron and silk and a spell. I think that must be Orikos' power. He weaves illusions so real that you can touch them. And they can touch you. I'm guessing the chalice amplifies his illusions, somehow. Makes them more real, mroe solid." He reached out and touched a bruise with gentle fingers. "I could feel the heat from over there," he said. "You need salve for some of those."  
  
This was just as confusing as the hunter's assertion that the very solid creature who had spent the later part of the morning kicking demigod ass was just a collection of smoke and mirrors. "How could you feel my bruises from across the room? Did you hit your head at some point in the last couple of days, Iolaus?" Hercules asked, with real concern.  
  
A bark of startled laughter echoed against the stone walls and set a pigeon to panicked flight from the eaves. "Now that you mention it, yeah, but I don't think I'm addled just yet, buddy." He sank down to sit against the wall once more, drawing his knees up and resting his arms across them. "I've been noticing stuff like that more and more, since your sisters paid me a visit. I'm hearing stuff better, and I can feel things, tell things with my fingers I couldn't before."  
  
"My sisters?" That didn't sound good. Based on past experience with his family, Hercules was prepared to hear the worst. "Which ones?"  
  
Resting his cheek on his arms, Iolaus said, "Well, you know about 'Dite." He waited for a grunt of acknowledgement, and then went on, "Artemis came by this afternoon. That's how I knew you were in trouble. She showed me your fight with that thing, and what might happen to this city if we fail. So I decided to go with my original plan and get myself arrested." He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. In retrospect though, I wish I'd gone straight on to Athens, yesterday. This has been a lousy layover."  
  
Hercules chuckled and nudged his friend. "Yeah, but the place is so damn picturesque. And the accommodations! Four-star at the least."  
  
"Oh, at least."  
  
"So, illusionary monster, then?"  
  
"I think so, yeah."  
  
"And you're immune to illusions, just now."  
  
"Seem to be."  
  
"So all we gotta do is break out of this cell, fight past a couple hundred well-armed soldiers, kill a monster that isn't there, and slap Orikos around until he gives us the cup."  
  
"We could wait and let Sennet let us out."  
  
"More fun to break out, though."  
  
"Sounds like a plan. Do you want the well-armed soldiers, or the monster?"  
  
"Well, since the monster wiped the floor with me earlier, I thought I'd leave him to you."  
  
"Oh, good. Glad I have a place in this little scheme of yours."  
  
"Always, Iolaus. Side by side. Back to back."  
  
"Ass over tip."  
  
"More often than not."  
  
"Heh. Shall we, then?"  
  
The warriors climbed to their feet. "You hear anyone out there?" Hercules asked.  
  
Iolaus tipped his head and listened. "Two, no, three people. One near the door, one eating an apple, one sleeping. She's drunk. Ouzo, I think. Three years old."  
  
Hercules rolled his eyes. "Show off." Iolaus just grinned.  
  
Before he could attack the reinforced oaken door, however, it opened. "'Bout time you two young pups got your act together," said Sennet. "You coming?"  
  
"You heard all that?" Iolaus asked. "Why didn't you let us out earlier?" He clutched the battered staff she handed him like a drowning man clutches a floating spar and let himself be led out of the cell.  
  
"I'm a bit curious about that myself," said Hercules. He followed them both out, then stopped when he saw the tow-headed guard eating the apple at the table. "Is this some kind of trick?" The woman seemed like a friend, but he couldn't forget that she was one of the people who had harmed Iolaus, or at least stood by while it happened. "Who's this?"  
  
The guard stood and smiled at the group. He was young, skinny, and shorter than Iolaus. "I'm Telos. Sarge says you two need helpin', then I'm helpin'." He grinned good-naturedly and finished his apple in two juicy bites, tossing the core at the drunken woman in the corner. She didn't stir. "Drunk on duty," he said scornfully. "Used to be, that would get you whipped and cashiered. Now, it be common as weevils in hard tack."  
  
Leading Iolaus to the table, Sennet said, "It sounded like you two were working things through and I didn't want to interrupt. Besides, it was shift change. Had to let things quiet down in here. Now, what's the plan?" She sat at the table next to Iolaus, and Telos settled across from here.  
  
A new plan was forming in Hercules head, and he couldn't sit just yet. Pacing before the hearth, he asked, "How many of your number feel like you do, Telos? Is there much dissention in the ranks?"  
  
The young man nodded. "Aye, there is. Ones as was hired on before the wizard came are loyal to Aristarkus and Pinios. Bain't many of them left, now. Ones hired after, well, they're a bad lot. Drunks and scoundrels and thieves, the lot of them." He tossed an apple to Sennet, and then took another for himself.  
  
"Perfect," said Iolaus, nodding. "Herc, you thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
"That thing we did in Boeum?"  
  
"Yeah. Should work as well as it did on the thugs those warlords hired." Iolaus reached out and snagged an apple for himself, polishing it on his tunic before biting in. "Sennet, how would you like to get rid of Orikos and his men once and for all? It won't be easy, but if this works, it should turn control of Pinios back over to Aristarkus."  
  
Slowly, Sennet nodded. "Yes," she said. "He is not a brave ruler, but he was once wise. Orikos has sapped his will away, I think, through fear and the threat of his powers. With the wizard gone, Aristarkus will rule well once again. What would you have me do?"  
  
Iolaus opened his mouth to speak, then sniffed the air. "What is it?" asked Hercules.  
  
"The drunk in the corner. Is she still there?"  
  
The corner in question was now empty, and Hercules got a sinking feeling in his gut. "Where did she go? Did anyone see?"  
  
"Not me," Iolaus said brightly. Hercules gave him a dirty look out of habit, then felt a pang when he realized his friend couldn't appreciate the glare.  
  
"Me neither," said Sennet, looking worried. "She could have gone to take a piss, but..."  
  
"She could have gone to warn the watch commander," Hercules finished, shaking off his sudden melancholy in the necessity of the moment. "We need to get out of here."  
  
"Too late," Iolaus said, turning an ear toward the door. "Unless that's the sound of Widow Twankey's dance troupe, there's a lot of feet coming this way."  
  
"So much for my cunning plan," muttered Hercules, looking for some kind of escape route. The room was large and open, but there were only two doors that looked as though they led anywhere. Through one of them, a horde of soldiers would soon be invading. Through the other... "Sennet, where does that go?" he asked, pointing to a door toward the back of the room.  
  
"Dungeons," she said, drawing her sword and facing the outer door. "There's another door down there that leads to the stables, but it ain't been used in a lot of years. I used to play hide and seek down there, when my da was a guard. It's locked, likely, and corroded shut."  
  
"No problem," Hercules said, and took Iolaus' arm. "Let's go."  
  
"Go? No! We can do this, Herc." Iolaus pulled his arm away and took a fighting grip on his staff. "We don't have time to retreat and regroup."  
  
He looked so determined, so ready to do battle, just like always, that it took Hercules a moment to remember that his friend was blind. "Iolaus, we have to get you safe away from here. You're in no shape to fight. Not now."  
  
The anger on his friend's face at those words made Hercules step back a pace. "Is that what this is about? We have to protect poor, blind Iolaus? I don't think so, buddy." He spat out the last word, teeth bared just a little. "Stop trying to protect me. We don't have time for it. Just let me get close to Orikos."  
  
"But..." Hercules looked from his friend to the door, and now he could hear the angry voices himself, and the sound of the coming battle. Iolaus knew his own abilities and limitations, and what the odds were. As always, he chose to stand at Hercules' side, no matter the cost. His face softening into affection, despite his fears, Hercules took Iolaus' shoulder and shook it gently. "All right. You win. We fight."  
  
The anger in his friend's face faded away, replaced with a look of chagrin. "'Bout time. So let's kick some butt."  
  
They moved the tables quickly, blocking the door and forming a bit of a shield wall with two tables on their sides, in case of arrows. "If we can hold them at the door, we can pick 'em off without taking too much damage ourselves," Sennet said, putting on her helm. "Maybe some of 'em will come over to us, too. I know at least three or four good'uns who are on watch this shift."  
  
"Good," Hercules said, picking up a sword, then putting it down again. He didn't want to kill anyone, really. Just give Iolaus time to get to Orikos and get the chalice from him, then get away to Hecate's temple in the woods. The escape was a problem, he knew, but they'd manage somehow. Maybe steal a couple of horses on their way out.  
  
Iolaus was listening intently, his head cocked toward the door. "Huh," he said, wrinkling his brow in confusion. "That's weird."  
  
"What? What do you hear?"  
  
"Aristarkus. That First Citizen guy. And a lot of angry voices. I don't think..." Then the first soldiers arrived, leaving Hercules to wonder what Iolaus didn't think, and the fight was on. Strangely, though, it didn't look like these soldiers were here to fight. Two of them led a short line of chained men and women, in gear identical to the guards holding the chains. At the end of the chain they could see a much bedraggled, though still noble, Aristarkus.  
  
When the soldiers saw the quartet in the room, they gaped in surprise, looking from one to the other in utter confusion. "Sennet?" one said. "Why is that man out of his cell? Why are the tables blocking the door?"  
  
"Why is the First Citizen in chains, Manesuetus? Not to mention these other folks?" Sennet pushed back her helmet, nodding to what were apparently familiar faces among the chained, and waited for a reply.  
  
The lead soldier said, "Orikos' orders, ma'am. Surprised you didn't hear. We're rounding up all the disloyal and traitorous scum in Pinios for trial. It's a new day for this city, right enough."  
  
Sennet nodded thoughtfully. She was still in favor, Hercules recalled, or had been, and so would have been let off of the list. At least, he hoped that was the reason she wasn't under arrest, and not that she'd turned traitor. "That's good news, then. Where are these scum bound now?"  
  
From behind the group, a familiar and hated voice said, "The dungeons, Guard Sennet. Where they belong."  
  
Beside Hercules, Iolaus stiffened, his hands gripping the staff turning white with the tension. "Orikos," he hissed.  
  
"You!" The mad sorcerer took a step back, looking at the blind hunter with horror writ large on his bland face. "What are you doing here? You're dead! She told me you were dead!" He took another step back, making a warding gesture and reaching for something in his sleeve. "Kill him!" he shrieked to the guards, and turned to run back the way he had come.  
  
The two guards holding the chains looked from the fleeing sorcerer to the group in the guardroom, and then into the angry faces of their chained leader and former compatriots. Then they looked to each other, shrugged, and threw Sennet the keys. "Remember us," one of them said, then they fled after Orikos, leaving a bemused group of prisoners and former prisoners in possession of the field.  
  
No time to celebrate, though. "Herc," Iolaus said urgently, "we can't let him get away." He put his hand on his friend and shield-brother's shoulder and practically pushed him out of the room. Hercules looked back to see Sennet unlocking the cuffs and waving them on, a grim smile stretching her lips. There was more of a struggle yet to come unless this all fell out well, and there was not a moment to be lost.  
  
Chapter12  
  
The run reminded Iolaus of his flight from the wolves, only now he was running toward danger, rather than away from it, and now he had his best friend at his side. So it was that, although he was still blind, still had no idea how to undo the harm that Hecate and Orikos had done, and no idea if he truly was immune to the sorcerer's illusionary beast, Iolaus was grinning like a madman. His warrior's blood was singing, and he'd rarely felt more alive. After the last day and a half of stumbling and confusion and aching loneliness in the dark, he was finally going to take action against his foe.  
  
"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Hercules said, taking a corner at speed and helping him keep his feet at the unexpected shift. "Sorry."  
  
"'S ok. And I am. Do you see him?" He thought he could hear the soft slap of the sorcerer's leather slippers against the slate, not too far ahead. Just around the next corner, in fact.  
  
"Not yet. Are you sure he's gone this way?"  
  
Iolaus nodded, sparing his breath for the run.  
  
"Okay. Corner coming up, sharp right...now!" They made it around and now Iolaus could hear the man plainly, hear his panting and smell his fear and the faint odor of cold ashes that seemed to cling to him. "Where is he?"  
  
Exasperated, Iolaus pointed and kept running. "Just ahead. Can't you see him? He's not twenty feet in front of us."  
  
He felt the muscles under his hand shift as Hercules shook his head. "That's a serving girl. We've been chasing the wrong person." Now he slowed and came to a stop, drawing deep breaths and pushing Iolaus back to rest against a wall.  
  
"No! It's him, Herc." Iolaus had never been more certain of anything, and he pushed off from the wall and started after his enemy himself. "It's another illusion. Orikos! Stand and face me, you coward!" But the slippers barely paused, and now he was thirty feet ahead, and the divide between them was growing. "Orikos!"  
  
A strong hand on his arm startled him, and he turned and flinched, raising his staff. "Whoa, buddy. It's me. Just me." Hercules squeezed his arm and let his hand fall away. Iolaus missed it almost immediately. "That wasn't Orikos. We should go back and help Sennet, or search his rooms or something."  
  
The slippers had stopped. The man was barely breathing, controlling his panting breaths as he listened, waiting just out of sight. Cold ashes and death and crow shit, dissipating now, but hanging in the air like a river of scent, leading straight to the mad wizard. "Right," Iolaus said, putting a finger to his lips, then tapping his ear. "We'll go back and help Sennet. I must have been mistaken. I'm not used to this whole blind thing, yet." Motioning for Hercules to follow, hoping his friend was getting the message, Iolaus crept down the hall, one hand to the wall and the other clutching his staff, tapping gently for obstacles.  
  
Behind him, he heard a sigh, and he made a face. _Fine_, he thought. _Humor me. Just follow me_.  
  
The scent grew stronger. Now Iolaus could smell the remains of the gyros and onions the man had eaten for supper. _He's breathing through his mouth, trying to keep quiet, trying to hide. He's afraid of me_, the hunter thought with a grim smile. _He's right to be_.  
  
The breathing sped up, and now Iolaus could hear low chanting. An acrid scent wafted toward him, and he pinched his nose to keep from sneezing, and then they were around the corner. "Orikos," he said. "Give me that damned cup and let's have done. I won't kill you if you...." He never finished the sentence.  
  
Being tackled from behind by a tall, heavily muscled demigod who has your best interests at heart and wants to save you from an illusionary monster is not fun. Iolaus landed with a thump that rattled his teeth and then he was being squished by that self same demigod and his best intentions. "Get off, Herc!" he said, smearily, and tried to push up from the floor.  
  
"Stay down. It's even bigger than before!" The weight was abruptly gone from Iolaus' back as the thing that wasn't there swept Hercules up and threw him. It was utterly silent, had no odor, and when Iolaus put his hand out to touch where he thought it might be there was nothing. He had to giggle, then. An illusion, just as he thought, couldn't effect him just now. It could affect Hercules, though, and Iolaus winced at the heavy thud of his friend flying from another blow and colliding with a very real wall of stone and mortar. The floor shook, and dust fell down from the ceiling at the impact, making Iolaus sneeze. _Got to hurry. Got to end this_.  
  
There was the faint sensation of cobwebs across his face as he walked through the monster, and then he was in front of the sorcerer. He could smell the man's breath, hear his heartbeat, and knew that if he reached out _so_, and grabbed _so_, he would have him and so it proved. The wizard fought in Iolaus' grip, but the man had no training in combat. Soon he was pressed against the tapestried wall, his face mashed into the moldy fabric and Iolaus' strong right arm pressing hard against the back of his neck. "Call off your creature," Iolaus ordered. "Its over, Orikos."  
  
The man struggled feebly under him, and then slumped in Iolaus' grip. There was something very satisfying in that surrender, even if Iolaus didn't trust it a dinar, and something even more satisfying in the sound of Hercules coming to rest and silence in the hall. Evidently that battle was over. Deeper within the castle, he could hear another battle going on, but now he only wanted one thing. "The cup. Hand it over."  
  
He felt the man's shoulder's shaking as he shook his head. "Never. My Lady gave it to me. She loves me. She told me she will not let you harm me." He pushed back against Iolaus' restraining grip, but slumped back into the wall a moment later. "Go to Tartarus!"  
  
"You first," Iolaus said, frisking the man with sensitive fingers. He took off various pouches of evil smelling things, and a small dagger that felt like the one he'd seen in his vision, but there was no cup in any of the pouches. "Where is it? Where have you hidden it?" He took two strong handfuls of the man's robe and shook him, bouncing the wizard off of the wall a time or two. "Tell me!"  
  
Then he heard a clank, and a gasp, and the struggling of the man in his hands redoubled as he tried to reach for something on the floor. Quicker than thought, Iolaus let him go and picked the thing up. The chalice was cold and a little slick in his hands, and strangely heavy. After a moment, though, it warmed in his palm and seemed to nestle there, for all the world like a contented kitten.  
  
A load lifted from his shoulders as he held it. Hope, now in his hands, left his heart lighter. A soft, warm breeze stirred his hair, and he swore he could smell jasmine. Not only that, but the hard stones under his bare feet were suddenly replaced by grass and dirt. He could hear the wizard on the ground, sobbing softly, and the chirrup of crickets. In the distance, a wolf howled. "What's going on? What happened?" He held the cup to his chest with one hand and reached out with the other, trying to find a wall, or some point of reference. "Hercules?"  
  
A strong hand closed over his. "Here I am. Where are we?"  
  
Iolaus let his hand coast up Herc's arm to rest on his shoulder again. The cup was warm in his grasp, but he was still blind. He had hoped that simply getting it from Orikos would have brought back his sight, but evidently there was more he had to do. The scent of jasmine on the breeze gave him the answer to Hercules' question, at any rate. "I think this is your aunt's temple. There was a grove of willow and jasmine and ivy not far from there. Kythis..." he broke off, remembering how beautifully the scarred woman had sung, and how she had died at the hands of the cringing man on the ground. "She's resting here, close by. Rina and I did what we could, but she deserves a decent burial." He put his foot on Orikos' back and pressed him to the dirt, his anger and fear coming out in a little brutality that no one minded but Orikos, and Iolaus didn't much care what he thought.  
  
"So, now what?" Hercules said. "The sun's down. It must be nearly moonrise."  
  
Then there came a soundless shudder in the air, like distant thunder more felt than heard. Myrrh and yew blended with the jasmine to form a strange, divine breath that blew over them with the stirring of the new moon's breeze. Iolaus felt Other eyes upon him and knew that they were not alone in the clearing. Hecate was nearby, and suddenly the warm night didn't feel so warm.  
  
When She spoke, Iolaus heard grief and anger and a kind of madness that gave him a case of the shivers, even as he rejoiced that She had come. "You have done well, my champion," her sepulcher voice said. "You bring me my cup and the murderer as well. I am pleased." Beneath his foot, Orikos heaved and tried to rise, but Iolaus' foot on the back of his neck kept him down.  
  
Beside him, Hercules drew breath and said, "That's just great. Now help Iolaus." As always when dealing with his stepfamily, Hercules was irreverent and abrupt. Iolaus had never really understood how he got away with that. In the past two days, he had been visited by three separate goddesses, and each occasion had left him changed in some way. Perhaps because he was completely mortal, unlike Hercules, the gods had greater power over him. Perhaps because he still felt awe in their divinity, whereas Herc just saw them as his crazy, sometimes murderous, relations. All he knew was, the course of the rest of his life lay in Hecate's hands, and Hercules was being rude. Iolaus wanted to kick him, but he wasn't quite sure where the man's semi-divine ass was situated just then.  
  
"Ah. My rash nephew. It is good to see you again, Herakles. Your wild ways suit you well." She made no sound as she moved through the ivy, coming to stand before them both. The only way Iolaus knew she had moved was the growing proximity of her hollow voice. "Your wild mouth, however, will get you into trouble one day. Mind your manners, boy, and have some respect for my age, if not my nature." Her words were cold, but there was humor in her voice and Iolaus let himself relax a bit.  
  
Time was winding toward the morrow. He could feel it. The darkness before his eyes was growing impossibly deeper, and he wanted nothing so much as to rip away that veil before it was too late. "Hecate," he started, but she stilled his words with a cool hand to his lips.  
  
"Take the cup. Fill it with water from the stream. Bathe your eyes thrice. Your sight will return, hero. Here. Make yourself useful while I deal with this bit of dirt." She took the cup from Iolaus and then he heard Hercules making a disgruntled noise and walk off toward the rivulet that had been Iolaus' guide on his trip here.  
  
"Thank you, Lady," he said as her hand fell away again.  
  
"It is nothing. Now step away. He will not rise."  
  
Iolaus took his foot off of Orikos and did as the goddess bade, stumbling a little in the tangle of coiling plants on the ground. The night grew silent, even the insects growing still and quiet and the night birds ceased their calls. He did not hear Orikos move, but he heard the man's harsh breathing, and he heard him whimper. Something was going to happen and for the first time Iolaus was glad he could not see.  
  
She was moving with sound, now, as though she was taking on a more solid form. He heard her circle the ivy, circle Orikos three times, and then three more and then three again. Each time she completed a circuit, the sounds of struggling and protest grew more silent. When she was done, all Iolaus could hear was a muffled whimpering. "What should I do with him, hero?" the goddess asked softly, close to Iolaus' ear. "He is meat for worms, should I choose it so, and his torments in Tartarus would be the stuff of nightmare legends. Or..." she paused, and Iolaus could feel her eyes upon him, "I could blind him, and send him friendless and stumbling into the world. Would that suit you?"  
  
He wanted to say yes. The last two days had been terrible, and he'd probably be having nightmares of just such blind stumbling for weeks. But, really, he was not the one most sinned against. As much as Iolaus wanted Orikos know what it was to be alone and afraid and worse, there was someone here who had suffered much more. Kythis.  
  
"He murdered a sweet lady," Iolaus said. "He should feel remorse, but he doesn't. I'm not sure even the torments of Tartarus would make him feel guilty for his actions. I don't think he has it in him. Its like, the part in me that makes me feel bad when I do something that hurts someone else, just got, I don't know, left out somehow. And I was just thinking, could you put it back?"  
  
A sharp breath, indrawn and sudden. A muffled protest from the wizard. "That would be just," the goddess said at last. "That would be a fitting punishment. He shall feel what he wrought, and how it felt, and he will not be able to escape from it until I deem it so."  
  
For all that it was justice, the cold hatred in her voice left Iolaus shivering and wishing Herc would get back, now please. He wanted to leave and let her get on with things, and he didn't want to be anywhere nearby when she did.  
  
The few minutes it took for Herc to walk down to the stream, fill the cup, and walk back seemed like a short eternity. "Why's he all wrapped up in ivy?" Hercules asked, stopping abruptly. Iolaus could smell the clean water, and he wanted to thump Hercules on the head for the delay, however minor.  
  
"I'll tell you later. Gimmie the cup!" He reached out, but got his hand batted away. Implacable fingers touched his chin and tilted his head back gently, and Iolaus was strangely glad that he hadn't had to kneel for this bit. Hercules was tall enough to do this with them both standing up, side by side.  
  
The water was cool, but not cold, and with the first touch of it against his blinking eyes, the burning was washed away. Iolaus gasped as that pain left, not realizing until it was gone just how much his eyes had been hurting. The second draught followed the first quickly, and now Iolaus thought he could see shadows swimming around him. Distant glints of something, but nothing formed.  
  
"You okay?" Hercules said, sounding concerned, and Iolaus nodded. "Okay. Last one."  
  
The cool water poured down again, and Iolaus sputtered as some of it got up his nose. He opened his eyes and wiped his face dry with his sleeve, swearing. "You did that on purpose!" He glared at his friend, and then opened his clear eyes wide and drank in the sight of him. An eldritch light illuminated the clearing, pale and otherworldly, and by it Iolaus could see everything. "You got water up my nose. You know how much I hate that!" But he couldn't stop grinning.  
  
The grin was echoed on the face of his best friend, and then long arms were folding around him and all Iolaus could see was yellow leather and bicep, but that was beautiful, too. Everything was beautiful. Even the stern, hard face of the goddess was beautiful, as she looked on. Iolaus met her silver gaze and nodded his thanks. She returned the nod and the gratitude, but her eyes were deep pools of sadness and rage, and Iolaus had to look away again. The grief of the gods is not meant for mortals to witness.  
  
Pulling back from the warm embrace, he looked up into Hercules' face and said, "We better get back to the city and see if Sennet needs any help with her rebellion."  
  
Reaching down, gentle fingers pushed a stray drop of water from Iolaus' cheek and rubbed it dry. "You sure you're up for it? You've had a busy couple of days." There was concern in those eyes, and love, and more than a small measure of self-doubt and guilt.  
  
Iolaus rolled his eyes and gave his friend a shove toward the city. It was like shoving a tree. A big tree. Great. Herc was feeling guilty. Like he had any control over what a crazy man did. "I'm fine," Iolaus insisted. He opened his eyes wide and made a show of looking at the stars. "Look...Orion. See? All in proper working order."  
  
"Are you sure you're an Argonaut? That's the Bear. Orion is over there." Hercules pointed to another part of the star-speckled sky, brilliant without the moon to outshine them. Iolaus was lost for a long moment, looking up in wonder, until a whimper from Orikos brought him to himself.  
  
"Right. Point is, we should go. Now." He looked toward Hecate, who was advancing on the vine-enshrouded form of Orikos with terrible intent. "Your aunt has some business to take care of."  
  
Hercules looked alarmed. "She's not going to kill him, is she?" He took a step forward, to what purpose Iolaus could only guess, but stopped when Iolaus put his hand on his arm.  
  
"No. She won't kill him." He started walking uphill, remembering how the ground had sloped upward under his feet the last time he had come this way. "Come on. I'll tell you about it on the way."

Chapter 13  
  
The city was quiet, which was unexpected. Iolaus didn't think they'd been gone that long. The watch fires were lit, and sentries guarded the main gate, but there were no sounds of fighting, nor chaos from within. His hearing was quickly returning to normal, now that his eyes were working again, but Iolaus didn't think that was the problem. There didn't seem to be a problem at all, which made him nervous.  
  
"It's quiet," he said, pausing on the road.  
  
Hercules tipped his head, looking up the hill toward the sentries, who were watching them amiably enough at a distance. "Maybe the battle is over, all ready. We were gone for a while."  
  
"Not that long," Iolaus objected, shaking his head. "It's too quiet, I tell you."  
  
"Quiet isn't necessarily a bad thing," Hercules said, continuing up the hill, leaving Iolaus to scramble after.  
  
When he caught up, he said, "I'm just sayin', we need to be careful."  
  
"We'll be careful. Now stop nattering like an old woman and come on." He grinned down at Iolaus and gave him a tiny shove toward the gate.  
  
The sentries merely nodded as they approached. When they drew within hearing distance, the one of the left said, "Hercules and Iolaus. You're to go to the House of Law, straight away. Captain Sennet's orders."  
  
That was promising, but enough had happened over the last few days that Iolaus was suspicious of everything. "How do we know that?" He still clutched his staff, now as a weapon alone, and glared at the two men.  
  
They looked at him mildly, even with a bit of amusement, and the one on the right took a bundle from his scrip. "She said you might take some convincing. She told us to give you this and to say, 'Ares' left nut, boy, get yourself over here.'"  
  
"Her very words, Belephan," the other agreed, and Iolaus had to admit it sounded like Sennet. The bundle, though, convinced him. Unwrapping the coarse linen, he felt a heavy, cool weight slip into his hand. He didn't need to bring it closer to the fire to see what it was. His fingers knew every curve, as well as they knew the weight and heft of his sword. His father's amulet.  
  
He slipped the cord over his head and felt it settle back into place over his heart. Bit by bit, the parts of himself the wizard had stolen were coming back to him. "Okay. Okay. Let's go see what's going on." He looked up at Hercules, who was just standing there in the flickering firelight, smiling at him. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. Let's go." _Nothing my eye_, but Iolaus let it drop. He knew. Hercules was as glad as he was himself.  
  
Once inside, though, he had to stop and look around. He'd tramped over this city for two days, and had no idea where he was going. Would he need to close his eyes to find the way? The fires were confusing, changing the darkness of night into a thing of shifting shadow and too-bright pools that kept his eyes from adapting. The buildings were shouldered together, looming high overhead and blocking out the starlight. The only thing that was familiar to him was the feel of the cobblestones underfoot.  
  
"What's wrong?" Herc asked, pausing when Iolaus stopped. He backtracked a few steps. "Are your eyes...?"  
  
"They're fine," Iolaus interrupted, reassured him. "But I've only seen this place once, and it was raining, then. I don't know where I'm going."  
  
Hercules relaxed in relief, the worried expression melting from his face. "I know the way," he said. "Follow me."  
  
"Ever since I got to this city, people have been leading me around," Iolaus grumbled. "I'm getting sick of it." Little by little, he was growing used to his sight once more. It was as well it was still night. He had a feeling that the daylight was going to be overwhelming. Nevertheless, he longed for sunrise.  
  
The House of Law was not nearly as frightening as he imagined it would be. It was only a building, made of stone and mortar and thatch like all the other buildings in this town. The guards were not seven feet tall and most of them resembled humans, in one way or another. No monsters here, except in his own mind. They nodded to the pair as they passed, amiable and polite, and after a few minutes Iolaus stopped expecting them to lay hands upon him and carry him back to his cell. It seemed the palace coup had been a success, on the right side for a change.  
  
The guard at the throne room door bowed them in, alert despite the late hour, and the smell of roast pork and fresh bread wafted out to them in a welcome wave. Iolaus' stomach growled in response and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Been a while since lunch."  
  
The two men walked in to the well lit room and a familiar voice called out, "'Bout time you pups got here! Come get some grub, boy, before you fall out from hunger." An older woman, her face dimly remembered from his one encounter with her, sat at a paper-strewn table with a distinguished looking man at her side. Sennet, he guessed, and Aristarkus. His suspicions were confirmed in the former case when the woman rose and crossed to him, engulfing him in a hug that nearly broke his ribs. Sennet was not a small woman. She could give some Amazons of his acquaintance a run for their money, in the strength and size department.  
  
"Hi," he said, when she put him down at last. "Did we miss all the fun?"  
  
Sennet ruffled his hair, a move that not even Alcemene could get away with these days, and said, "Hi, he says. After chasing after that damned wizard, disappearing for hours, leaving us to wonder and worry and do all the fighting and clean up and all. Hi. Well, hi yourself, boy." Her voice was gruff, but her steel-gray eyes were kind and more than a little moist. "Hie yourself over there and get something to eat. We killed a pig for you, you ungrateful whelp, and there you stand. There you stand." She ruffled his hair again, and he let her.  
  
She was beautiful, he thought. Her short, iron gray hair perfectly matched her eyes, and the lines that creased her face were like a wonderful map, or one of Gabriel's scrolls, marking the path of her life. Her hands were callused like his; he could feel the ridges catch in his hair. Years of holding and using a sword had created those patches of horn-like skin, and the muscles in her arms and back. He drank in the sight of her, and smiled a lop-sided smile, "Sennet, are you blushing?"  
  
"Nay, lad," she said, and now her voice was thick. "Not I. I'm too damn old to blush, and too old for you to be looking at me like that. Now go eat." She wiped her eyes and turned back to the table, hiding her face.  
  
Leaving Sennet her pride, Iolaus picked up a bit of bread and a hunk of pork, folding the one around the other. "So, what happened after we left?"  
  
"I'm curious about that myself," said Hercules. "And you said we'd been gone for hours. We weren't gone for more than one."  
  
Aristarkus spoke up. "It's near dawn now. We were afraid Orikos had killed you both, but Sennet said that you'd make it through. That's why we left the message at the gate for you. Once Orikos vanished most of his men gave up, but the few remaining insurgents took a while longer to hunt down. I'm still not certain we have them all, but we will eventually. The Guard will be sparse for a time, but with Captain Sennet's help I feel confident that Pinios will soon be back in her former glory."  
  
Hercules folded his arms and nodded judiciously. "Captain Sennet. Good choice. I thought you were going to retire, though. Something about...chickens?"  
  
Sennet rubbed the back of her neck, and now Iolaus could see the weariness in the woman's eyes, in her movements. It had been a long night for them all. "Yeah, well, you know what they say. Life is what happens while you're making plans. I reckon I'll stay on as Captain as long as the First Citizen..."  
  
"Aristarkus, please, my dear," interrupted the dignified man at the desk, and Sennet blushed again.  
  
"Right. As long as Aristarkus needs me. Then I'll find some young pup to groom to take my place and THEN I'll retire and raise chickens." She glared at the men defiantly. None of them had the courage to make the slightest comment.  
  
At length, Aristarkus cleared his voice and said, "Iolaus, I wanted to apologize from the bottom of my heart for what I put you through. If I had stood up to Orikos, none of this would have happened. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? Anything at all. I owe you a great debt, not only for the pain you have suffered, but for the freedom you helped bring back to my city."  
  
It was a pretty apology, Iolaus had to admit, but his mouth was full of pork and barley bread at that moment. Clearing it with a swallow of wine, he said, "I...uh...I don't need anything really. And I don't blame you for what Orikos did. He was nuts. Next time you'll know the symptoms and shoot from a distance, eh?" Yeah, the First Citizen had been weak and more than a little cowardly, but he'd made up for it in the end, and he seemed to really care about his people.  
  
His people. "Come to think of it, there is something I need. There's a little girl in the poor quarter. Her name is Rina, and she and her grandfather live in this little shack in an alley. He's too sick to work, and she's too young to be living on the streets like she is. You want to make it up to me, take care of her, and anyone else down there who needs help. From what I understand, things got pretty bad for them while Orikos was around."  
  
"Done," Aristarkus said, smiling. "You are letting me off lightly, though, Iolaus. I was planning on a series of reforms and relief efforts in that part of the city at any rate. Schools and some public works projects, not to mention improved sanitation and housing. I have let my fears guide me for too long, but with your help, and the help of my good Captain, I will set things right again. Now what was your young friend's name?"  
  
Iolaus grinned. "Come with me. I'll introduce you."  
  
The sun was coming up over the walls of the city as the strange parade made its way through the winding streets of Pinios. Iolaus led the way, his steps growing more sure as they approached the part of town with which he was more familiar. Behind him strode Hercules, who couldn't seem to stop smiling whenever he looked at his friend, and behind him came Sennet and Aristarkus, practically touching shoulders as they walked together.  
  
With a slightly longer stride, Hercules caught up to Iolaus and said in his ear, "I think the First Citizen is a little sweet on your girlfriend."  
  
Iolaus glanced over his shoulder, and nodded, seeing a pleased smile break out on Sennet's stern face. "Yep. Think 'Dite had anything to do with this? I know she's been hanging around."  
  
"Haven't seen her for a while," Herc said. "I think this is all their doing." Now Sennet was laughing, not a girlish giggle but a woman's deep belly laugh, and it rang off of the walls and cobblestones with its mirth. Aristarkus smiled fondly and took the woman's hand, and she didn't seem to mind.  
  
They came to Zorba's tavern, its broken plate swinging slowly overhead in the morning breeze. The chickens in the courtyard were just waking up, scratching in the dirt for yesterday's leftover seed and cackling for fresh. Iolaus nudged one persistent hen out of the way and looked around, at a loss.  
  
"Something wrong, boy?" Sennet said.  
  
He scratched his head. "Same problem as before. I have no idea how to find her house. I've never seen this place before."  
  
Hercules put a hand on his shoulder, then took Iolaus' hand and placed it on his. "Close your eyes," he said.  
  
Iolaus sighed and nodded. Taking a firm grasp of his staff, he shut his eyes.  
  
Panic. His heart beat wildly for a moment, and he opened his eyes with a gasp. "Gods," he said, shaken. For a moment, for only a moment, he had been blind again, and it terrified him.  
  
"Easy, Iolaus. It was the same for me. I had to sleep with a burning campfire for a week, remember?" Hercules reached up and squeezed Iolaus' hand, then said, "Try again. You can always open your eyes."  
  
"Right. You're right." He took a deep breath and said, "I have to do this. I don't think I can find her otherwise. The streets all look the same."  
  
He concentrated on the feel of his friend's strong shoulder under his hand, warm and alive. It grounded him, and the fear ebbed away like the tide. Taking a deep breath, a cleansing breath, Iolaus let his eyes close and let the darkness enfold him once more.  
  
His hand on Herc's shoulder. The rough wood of the staff in his hand. The feel of the packed dirt underfoot. The smell of the chickens and the city around him. The sound of that city coming to life with the new day. A dog barked, not far off, and sleepy people called out their gruff good mornings to their waking neighbors.  
  
Without hesitation, Iolaus turned to his right and began walking.  
  
The alley where Rina had hid still smelled of garbage and urine, though much less strongly then before. The wall beyond it felt rough and damp under his hand, and he could smell the burnt garbage from the old men's barrel, now nothing but cold, wet ashes. He turned down another alley, and opened his eyes on a squalid, listing hut that crouched against the wall. It was a pitiful construction of discarded lumber and ancient stones, and it looked as though one good breeze would tip it over.  
  
No smoke came from the hole in the roof, and the door hung askew in the lintel. "Rina?" Iolaus called, leaning his stick against the wall and pushing it open the rest of the way. No answering call, no patter of little feet. The shack was empty and cold, and looked as though no one had lived there for some time.  
  
The only object in the room, apart from the rotting rope bed, was a garland of yew and ivy, hanging over the cold hearth. Iolaus took it down and smelled it. "It's fresh," he said to Hercules, who had ducked in after him and now stood, stooping, in the low room. "I don't understand. Where's Rina?"  
  
Hercules took the garland from him and put it back on the hearth. "I'm not sure she was ever here. Hecate wasn't leaving anything to chance."  
  
"The Maiden," Sennet murmured, touching a strand of ivy with reverance. "And the old woman we saw outside the city? The one who sent us to Zorba's?"  
  
"Oma," Iolaus said. "The Crone. And Lilah was old enough to be The Mother. Hecate has three faces, and they were watching over me the whole time." He was thankful, in retrospect, but it felt unfinished, somehow. Out of balance. "Let's get out of here." Epilogue  
  
The road to Athens was dry and easy underfoot, especially since he'd finally gotten his boots back. Their packs were full of food, and their pouches full of coin, thanks to a generous and guilt-ridden Aristarkus. Hercules had wanted to take nothing, but Sennet had insisted and, as a last resort, had snuck both pouches into Iolaus' pack while the big guy wasn't looking. The day was bright and the birds were singing in the trees. Spring was truly here, and in full bloom.  
  
"What's wrong, Iolaus," Hercules asked.  
  
"Huh?" Iolaus replied, distracted. He looked up from the ground, noticed the beauty around him with a sad smile, and shrugged. "Oh, I guess I'm just disappointed. I wanted to say goodbye to Rina, and it turns out she never even existed. She helped me so much, and I wanted to do something nice for her in return, and now I can't."  
  
Herc reached out and cupped his hand around Iolaus' neck, giving a quick squeeze before allowing his hand to fall away again. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," he said. "When I think of what you went through, I want to..." He looked like the son of storms for a moment, but then his face cleared. "I'm just glad it's over."  
  
"Me too," Iolaus said. "Hey, what did you say to Nikos, before we left?" The sadistic little creep had been one of the first ones Sennet arrested, and Hercules had disappeared into his cell for a while when Iolaus wasn't watching. "He looked a little shaken, the last time I saw him." Not bruised, though. Iolaus had so wanted to change that, but he had held back. It had been a near thing, but he had held back.  
  
"Oh, that," Hercules said, looking away. "Nothing." There were two things Hercules did not do well. Fishing was one, and lying was another. Iolaus just looked at him until the bigger man started squirming. It was a sight to see, and Iolaus barely refrained from breaking into giggles. "Really!"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Well..." The demigod caved under Iolaus' disbelieving, ironic stare. "I might have threatened him a little."  
  
"A little."  
  
"A little!"  
  
"He told him that he'd feed him to Orikos' monster the next time he saw him," a laughing voice said. "Him and his brother. And that you had intervened for him. Nikos owes you big time, sweetcheeks. And, as far as I'm concerned, he's never getting laid again.  
  
In a shower of shining sparks, Aphrodite appeared before them, smiling and radiant and beautiful. "Oh, Gods," Iolaus groaned happily. "That's so much better." He looked his fill, now, unwilling to even blink lest he miss a moment of her presence.  
  
The goddess preened under his ardent gaze, and Hercules sighed in irritation. "'Dite, would you mind?" He fluttered his fingers at her, as though shooing an irritating quail out of the way, but she refused to flutter off.  
  
"Not at all, bro," she said, smiling, and pressed closer to Iolaus, who groaned again. "Better?"  
  
"Yes," said Iolaus.  
  
"No," said Hercules.  
  
"Don't listen to him, Aphrodite."  
  
"Iolaus. Festival. Beauty contest. Ringing any bells?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
Purring from Aphrodite.  
  
"You're not helping matters any."  
  
"Shut up, Herc. I've been blind for the last two days. Let me look for a minute."  
  
"She's my _sister_, Iolaus."  
  
Giggles from Aphrodite.  
  
"I'll meet you in Athens, then, shall I?"  
  
"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. See you in Athens."  
  
"Good. Because the last time we split up to meet later, it worked out so well."  
  
That brought Iolaus out of his daze. Hercules was stumping away already, moving down the road with long strides. As pleasant as 'Dite was, and as willing, Iolaus wouldn't do that to his friend. She was, after all, Herc's sister. "Sorry?" he said, hoping she wouldn't be mad at him. He still had plans to get laid in the near future. "I should go. Thank Hecate for me, if you see her."  
  
Aphrodite sighed, then waved him on his way. "I will. Go. Judge. You're late enough as it is." She folded her arms and then reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair. "You look better blond. Henna is so last week."  
  
A flash of yellow at the corner of his vision told him she'd changed him back to his normal coloring. Grinning, he thanked her again with another kiss and then turned and ran after Hercules. "Hey! Wait up! I'm coming!"  
  
The End 

End notes: I'm a thief. Oma is partially Li Kao from Bridge of Birds by Barry Hughart (go read if you haven't yet.). The Pegasus prances thanks to Tolkein, although I didn't realize it until the third edit. I've also consulted Adkins and Adkins "Handbook to Life in Ancinet Greece" for some details and my handy dandy Rand MacNally Atlas for others. Mostly everything else is of my own design. Except for that last sentence. I stole it from Lewis Carroll. Thanks for reading and please, if you liked it, send me feedback. If you didn't like it, tell me why. Everything goes to help make me write better stuff. If you want to send private feedback, go to www sivib com and click on any feedback link.


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